


amor vincit omnia

by catchafallingstarfish (spaceboy_niko)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Geoff/Jack, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Developing Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Multi, Mutual Pining, Relationship Fixing, Roman Empire AU, adding tags as I go, badly-written fight scenes, because these boys can't get their shit together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboy_niko/pseuds/catchafallingstarfish
Summary: The Roman Empire is crumbling at the edges, and the Mad King sees this as a chance to swoop in and claim a town on the outskirts as his own, with his loyal lapdog Mogar by his side.He doesn't expect a one-man rebellion. Especially not a particularly attractive one-man rebellion.





	1. beati pacifici

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mad King has no time for the revolutionaries. The revolutionary doesn't care much for him, either.
> 
> _beati pacifici – blessed are the peacemakers_

The might of the Roman Empire stretched far, but even its iron reach couldn’t prevent all the barbarians from entering the farthest cities. That was made obvious the day a new king arrived.

The soldiers of the Roman people tried to no avail to fend off the powerful army led by the man in the tartan stripes of his clan and an evidently battle-worn crown. The king’s victory was quick and brutal, and it was whispered the barbarian army bathed in the blood of their brave legionaries and used their shields for firewood. The general’s helmet was returned to the city, with the general’s head still inside.

And yet, despite arriving with torches blazing and swords drawn, this new leader didn’t seem as barbaric as his gruesome first appearances made him seem. He offered to convene with the emperor’s delegate, sophisticated in his conduct and holding himself with a manner worthy of the emperor himself. He rose in the respect of the city and found himself in the good graces of the upper-class inner circles and the emperor’s men.

Which was quite convenient for him, as was proved on the night he and his men slunk through the shadows to slit their throats.

The emperor would not ever know his delegate was gone. Communication to Rome ceased almost instantly and the barbarian king was easily able to rise to power, crushing anyone who stood against him and his regime. 

After all, when in Rome, one must do as the Romans do, and when one conquers Rome, one must conquer as the Romans do.

He made his home in the delegate’s old villa, with an entourage of trusted men and disgraced prisoners from past raids. The prisoners were forbidden to mix with the local failed rebels, meeting only as fellow captives in the cells and as enemies in the gladiatorial ring, corpses shackled until they stopped breathing. The Mad King had no pity.

The day’s brawl had ended, a clearly superior fighter standing over the gasping and broken body of his opponent, waiting for the signal of the king. He raised his arm in front of him, tensing to tilt his thumb downwards, when over the silence of the audience’s bated breath came a harsh cry.

“Boo! Boo, you heathen! What kind of monster are you to let this man die like this? You could let him die with some dignity, but you’re willing to let him die as nothing more than an animal! You _savage_!” 

The shouts came from a tall man, robed in the garb of the Romans. The green of his toga showed that he was certainly not affluent enough to have been noticed in the king’s purge of the upper class, nor poor enough to be deemed unthreatening. A man sat next to him tugged the fabric, but the angered man pushed his arm away, instead moving to face his people.

“Are you all going to sit there and think it right to watch your fellow Romans slaughter each other? Oh, what times we live in! You all know we’re not savages like they are! Why don’t you rise against him? Why are you just letting this happen?” The colour had risen high in his cheeks, green eyes blazing in defiance as he stared down the Mad King.

The silence that hung over the coliseum was tense and fearful.

Without raising his voice, the Mad King spoke. “Mogar.”

A ginger man clad in bearskin rose from the king’s right hand. “Yes, sir.”

The bear’s teeth still hung, gleaming, from the tanned skin of the head above the barbarian Mogar’s gaze. The Roman met his eyes as if in a challenge, only to cower when Mogar growled low in his throat.

Taken by the wrists with his head held high, the rogue Roman let himself be led away.

* * *

“What could possibly have compelled you to stand up like that? Aren’t you scared?” Mogar berated his prisoner as he marched towards the king’s cells.

“What do I have to be scared of?” the Roman retorted. Away from the high tension of the crowd, Mogar was able to look at him better.

He was taller than Mogar, lithe and long-limbed and tanned as if he were fresh from Rome itself. His toga was the green of the middle classmen, mottled from wear, and his hair was cut unfashionably – even a stranger to the parts like Mogar could tell that. He had the typical high-bridged nose of the Roman people, and could quite easily pass for a member of the upper class if he got a haircut and better robes. Mogar almost didn’t want to restrain him and interrupt the easy grace he moved with.

“The coliseum, for starters,” Mogar said drily. He felt the man tense. Grinning, Mogar pressed on. “And you should also probably worry about that lovely body of yours being tortured. The king has spent a long time perfecting his…methods. He’s surprisingly efficient. The things I’ve seen him do to people when they–”

“That’s quite enough, thank you.” The Roman had paled considerably. Mogar let an expression of blatant disgust cross his face and quickly changed the subject.

“Seeing as we’re going to become very well acquainted for however long you spend in our company, I may as well know your name.”

“Gavin. _Qui es tu_?” The sentiment was returned in the same careless manner. Mogar didn’t understand his formal tongue, but could string together some form of meaning.

“Michael.” The name was out of his mouth before he could stop himself – vulnerability he couldn’t afford to let show.

Gavin made a noise. “One of those filthy Christian names.”

Mogar cut him off with a sharp blow. “But you call me Mogar, like everyone else. Understood?”

“Understood.” The response was curt and quiet.

“For someone so eager to talk at the games today, you’re being unusually quiet.”

Gavin was silent.

“If you think you’re being a hero, you should really think again. I’ve done this countless times. You’re nothing special. Maybe better-looking than the average, but just another one in a thousand. The king wouldn’t hesitate to leave you to rot.”

Mogar sped up their pace, and they walked in silence a while longer, the only noises the sounds of Gavin’s now-laboured breathing, until they reached the holding cells below the king’s new stronghold.

“You will wait here, until the Mad King decides what will be done with you.” Mogar’s voice echoed in the stone room. He grinned, baring his second set of teeth. “You can only hope he deals with you quickly, and doesn’t mar your pretty face too much.”

“Your king is all talk. I don’t have anything to be scared of until he gives you the order to slit my throat _._ It’s all empty, empty threats, nothing more.” Mogar growled at the insult and locked the shackles around Gavin’s wrists and ankles, turning the key viciously.

“My king is now your king, and if you keep this up, you’re going to be tasting the dust of the arena floor.” He punctuated his final words with the clang of the locking cell door.

* * *

The place at the king’s feet was usually reserved for the jesters, but the Mad King did not operate by the societal norms. Mogar sat at his right heel, like the loyal bloodhound he was to the king, and smirked at the green man now knelt before the two of them.

The king smirked, a hand resting lightly on the bearskin atop Mogar’s head. “Our pretty little viridian fool. What could you possibly have hoped to achieve with your rebellion?”

Gavin huffed and remained silent. The knee of one of the king’s guards jammed into his side and he wheezed, falling onto his side.

“Really, your lack of cooperation is only going to make this worse for you,” the king said mildly. “Did you have any other conspirators? Or was it just anger that I’m going to have to teach you to control?”

Gavin coughed from his place on the ground. “ _Gladiator in arena consilium capit._ The gladiator makes his plans in the arena.”

Mogar looked at the king, waiting for his reply.

“Well, Sir Gladiator, you’re staring the lion in the mouth now. You certainly weren’t picked for your brains.”

“At least I have one, unlike the people you’ve brainwashed into following you. I refuse your leadership. I have no king.” Gavin spat onto the tiled floor in front of the king’s feet, and glared up.

The king smiled down serenely, an eyebrow raised. “Your high spirits intrigue me. What do you think, Mogar? Should we keep him?”

Mogar mirrored the king’s grin. “Until he learns.”

The king raised a finger almost carelessly, and the guards hoisted Gavin up under his arms and sat him unceremoniously before the king, his head inches away from the king’s knees.

“It’d be in your best interests to learn quickly, then,” the king said conversationally. “Now, face me.”

A strong hand found its way to the back of Gavin’s neck, holding him to make eye contact with the king.

“What is your name?”

“Like it would matter if I tell you,” Gavin replied in the same conversational tone.

“It’s Gavin,” Mogar interjected, and the king smiled. Gavin writhed under Mogar’s tight hold.

“Tell me, sir Gavin, am I your king?”

“Hail, Caesar,” Gavin spat out, tensing under the strong grip on the back of his neck.

The king sighed. “Stubborn. How unfortunate. Under any other circumstances, I would say I like your attitude, but it seems you have a lot to learn.”

Mogar grinned. “What will we do with him, my lord?”

Gavin held his breath as the king thought. “Keep him here, and teach him our ways properly. He won’t learn anything if we lock him up again. And if he still doesn’t learn, then he can go into the coliseum.”

“Yes, sir.” Mogar yanked the back of Gavin’s tunic and brought him roughly to his feet. Gavin staggered and fell backwards, where the guards caught him and marched him out of the throne room.

“He’s an interesting one. It’d be a shame to let him go to waste. How do you think he’d look as royalty?” the king mused as the heavy footfalls of the guards faded.

“He already looks damn good, sire. Even better, I say,” Mogar purred in response. He looked to the thoughtful king, and slunk out of the room at the regal nod, following carefully behind the guards.


	2. ante bellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin falls out with the king, and falls in with his captors.
> 
>  
> 
> _ante bellum - before the war_

Gavin fought against the silent stony grip of the two henchmen dragging him further into the palatial villa, but to no avail. They could easily lift him and carry him, and when Gavin dragged his feet enough they simply picked him off the floor and continued their brisk pace.

He didn’t think his people would be so…sheep-like, so complacent to follow the storm that had raged into their city and destroyed their lives as they knew it. Even Dan, chaotic as a forest fire and unpredictable as the wind, had told him in the secrecy of their home that there was no point in struggling against the king.

“But he’s a bloody tyrant, B!” he’d exclaimed, and Dan had shushed his exasperated rambling.

“Yes, but what can we do, Gav?”

Gavin had gone to bed, alone and seething. He’d pushed Dan’s arm off him at the fights the next day, thoughts fogged with anger. His current predicament only showed that he should really try not to hold a grudge.

But now he was here, he could surely make a statement. Either one of defiance, or of cooperation - that is, if the king complied.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by a sudden stop as he was set down in an antechamber of sorts. Mogar emerged from the doorway and grinned as he bent down to meet Gavin’s eyes.

“You with us now, pretty boy?”

“Don’t call me that.” Gavin rolled his eyes and attempted to break eye contact, but a strong hand around his neck held his head in place. He could feel his Adam’s apple bob under the guard’s grip.

Mogar tutted, and began examining Gavin. Gavin tensed as Mogar held his wrist away from his body, and the hand around his throat tightened.

Gavin didn’t know whether he went limp out of compliance or lack of air.

Through his foggy head and the blood thundering in his ears, Gavin heard Mogar’s muffled sigh and cloudy words: “Jeremy, you’re choking him.”

“Sorry, sir,” and he gasped, chest heaving.

“You nearly broke him, and he’s too pretty to break in such an undignified way. I’d hate to think what the king would do to you if you’d killed him.” Mogar continued his study of Gavin, moving his hand up to Gavin’s jaw and tilting his head to expose his neck.

“That’s going to bruise, Jeremy.” Gavin could feel the guard’s fear behind him. “I think you should apologise to the king once we have this one sorted out.”

The guard audibly swallowed, and Mogar continued stretching Gavin’s limbs out, unfazed, tattoos rippling with the movements of the muscle under the inked skin.

When Mogar reached the collar of Gavin’s worn green tunic, he tugged it lightly. “Strip.”

“I – you want me to _what_?”

“This isn’t yours any more. You’re here with us, and so you’ll dress like us. Don’t worry, Gavin, we’ll find something that suits you.”

Gavin sullenly tugged the tunic over his head and bunched it in his hand. 

“You’re skinny as hell,” Mogar remarked casually.

As the other guard came to take it from him, an idea struck him.

“Wait.”

The guard stopped, and looked to Mogar for guidance.

“Can– uh, can I–? Keep some of it?” His voice trailed away as Mogar raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“Can I keep a little bit of it? For– I don’t know, for something? I just– I don’t want to part with it completely yet.”

Mogar sighed again, sounding more exasperated now. “I guess? We’ll…” He waved a hand, trying to find words. “We’ll find a way to let you keep a bit of it.”

Gavin nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Mogar looked pensive again, and a light seemed to flick on behind his eyes. He hurriedly ushered Gavin onwards into the next room.

“Yeah, we’ll make sure you can keep this. Take him to Jack, he’ll fix him up.” Mogar snapped his fingers and the guard whose name he didn’t yet know took his arm, still clutching the tunic, and led him further into the chamber.

It didn’t seem like Mogar trusted Jeremy around him anymore. 

* * *

This other guard’s grip was lighter, presumably out of fear of hurting Gavin, and eventually they arrived in a room full of cloth. Clean, crisp sheets of fabric were stacked neatly in stark contrast to the worn and staining piles in corners. In the middle of it all, amongst hanging billowing sheets, a heavyset man bustled around - evidently one of the barbarians, as the nature of his impressive beard showed.

“Jack,” the guard called softly, and he stopped, turning to face them with an eyebrow cocked. He smiled genially when he saw the guard, but he still looked perplexed at the presence of a mostly-nude Roman in his workspace. Gavin flushed, but the guard prevented him from moving.

“Has the king picked up a charity case now, huh?” Gavin opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he saw the twinkle of laughter in his eye.

“Oh, don’t look like that. I’m all for charity, much to the king’s dismay. You can relax, neither Geoff nor I bite. Now, what does he need?” He began pacing the room, examining the shelves and their contents.

The guard - Geoff - cleared his throat a little before he continued.

“Actually, there’s, uh, a different request for him. He has a robe he doesn’t want to get rid of, and Mogar says they could incorporate it into…it’s a first for them, I know.” Geoff seemed to be holding something back, something that went unspoken but still communicated between the two of them.

Jack rubbed his hands together. “I should be able to do something with it. Give it here. We’ll use the material for your loincloth or something.”

Gavin tried not to react, but his face twisted a little into mild disgust at his being reduced to a slave.

Jack disappeared somewhere in the maze of white, and Gavin waited awkwardly. Geoff let his arm go, and Gavin shot him a grateful smile before he attempted to cover himself up.

Jack briefly reappeared, looked at him and clicked his tongue in a maternally disapproving way. “Skinny for a Roman, aren’t you?”

Gavin looked bemused. It must be a defining feature.

Jack held strings up to him and around him to measure him. When he reached the Roman’s waistline, Gavin refused to move his arms.

Jack sighed from the floor. “Come on–”

“Gavin,” he muttered. “It’s Gavin.”

“Well, come on then, Gavin. You don’t want this to be too loose or too tight in the waist, do you? And if you don’t cooperate, I’ll make the crotch room too small. It’s your modesty or your dick, Gavin.”

Gavin hurriedly moved his arms upwards. Jack, he had decided, was not a man to be crossed.

Geoff snickered from somewhere behind him, and Jack coolly said from about his knee height, “I’ll sew your breeches shut, Geoffrey.”

“Sorry, dear.”

Jack and Geoff’s relationship seemed strange to Gavin. “Are you…?”

“Married? Nah. Not a barbarian thing.” Jack straightened up, and took his lengths of string between each finger. He smiled through his beard at Geoff, whose eyes crinkled upwards with his moustache. “I’ll be back soon. That’s some good material in that toga of yours. I can see why you’d want to keep it.”

Gavin managed a small smile. “Thanks. My, uh, friend in the army got it when he came back from service in Rome.”

Jack smiled – Gavin thought he saw sympathy – and hastened back into the white. Geoff sat down on a rickety-looking stool and rocked back and forth on the uneven legs. There was a lengthy, uncomfortable silence until he gestured to an identical one on the far side of the room. “You can have a seat, you know.”

Gavin shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll pass. I don’t want splinters in my arse, I’d be finding them all over the gaff for months.”

“All over the what?” Geoff chuckled, his eyes crinkling again. His laugh was contagious, and Gavin found himself smiling in spite of himself.

“Aw, come on! It’s a real word! Can’t blame me if you don’t know how to talk!”

Geoff laughed almost hysterically, and Gavin joined in. It was real laughter, too, the kind of laugh he hadn’t laughed since the king came into the picture. His knees gave out from under him and he collapsed onto the worn floor, making both of them laugh harder.

Jack emerged and smiled bemusedly at the pair of them. He held a bundle of green cloth over one arm, and something glittered between the folds.

“It’s the same as what we’d usually give you, but seeing as you’re a special case it’s a little fancier. I’ll keep the extra in case we need to make any repairs.”

Jack showed Gavin how all the knots and pins fitted together, and fixed the collar-like gold chain, draping the excess over him from where it fastened at his neck. Wincing at the cool metal against his probably-bruised throat, Gavin turned, and the chains clinked.

The green still went nicely with his skin, and the gold complemented it quite well. Jack had done a good job, he thought.

His mind flicked back to what Jack had said: a special case.

“Uh, Jack?”

“Hm?” Jack was circling him, looking over his handiwork.

“What did you mean by ‘a special case’?”

Jack and Geoff exchanged a look.

“Should we tell him?” Geoff asked.

“Fuck it, why not,” Jack answered. “Gavin, the king and Mogar take prisoners all the time, yet they seem to be treating you differently. It’s…something we haven’t seen for a while. They’re excited about something, we think, and we don’t want you to get hurt.” Again, Gavin felt that Jack was leaving something out. His heart plummeted to his stomach at the words.

“So just…be careful, kid.” Geoff twisted his hands around each other a little. “They’re gonna pull out all the stops, and–”

“Well, if all else fails, at least I’ll go out in style.” Gavin shrugged slightly, and the chains tinkled on his shoulders.

Geoff and Jack looked at each other. Gavin couldn’t quite read their eyes. Must be a barbarian thing.

“If you’re ever in need of anything, come find us.” Jack smiled again, and Gavin thought he might have managed a real smile back.

“Yes, Mum,” Gavin teased. “But seriously, thank you. You’ve…actually made me feel welcome here.”

“Oh, Lord, you’d better not start calling me Dad,” Geoff lamented.

“It’s basic human decency, isn’t it?” Jack said over him. “You take care of yourself, now.”

Gavin waved over his shoulder as Geoff led him out.

* * *

Geoff smiled apologetically before he stiffened and increased his pace to a quick march. Gavin staggered, but thought it fair. He wouldn’t want Geoff to suffer for him.

Standing either side of the heavy door were two guards, one long and lithe and built similarly to Gavin, the other shorter, with a scraggly beard and long hair. Gavin couldn’t help but think it looked like they’d befriended a bard and a Viking – a strange combination to guard the king’s sanctuary.

Geoff nodded, and the two of them swung the door inwards. Gavin was propelled forward into the room.

The guard who’d choked him - Jeremy, that was his name - kneeled with his back to them in front of the king. The king did not look pleased.

“Gavin.” The voice rang low and clear through the open room.

Gavin took a few tentative steps forward, and the king beckoned him forward, until Gavin was practically in his lap.

“May I see?”

“Wh–? Oh.” Getting the message, Gavin tilted his head, exposing the length of his neck. He felt incredibly vulnerable, like the king was about to go for his blood.

The king pulled him closer until Gavin was perched in his lap, tentative and rigid, and cool hands stroked at his neck. It was sort of soothing, like cold water on a burn he didn’t know he had. He could feel the softness of the king’s hands over the tense lines of his neck.

Tutting, the king traced what must have been the outline of the bruise. “Our poor Gavin. Did it hurt, what Jeremy did?”

“N-no.” The king raised an eyebrow and Gavin elaborated. “My head didn’t feel right, like it was underwater. I don’t think I could have felt any pain.”

A noise of sympathy came from below him. Mogar stood with a swish of fur and a quiet pained noise came from behind them.

“Those are awful. They’re going to take a long time to heal, Jeremy. They’re very red right now. They’re redder than when you first held him. Can you see them, Jeremy?” Mogar cocked his head at Jeremy, both false and real eyes glinting. Jeremy shook where he knelt.

“They’re the shape of your hands, Jeremy, and for weeks our Gavin is going to be all mottled and blotchy because of you. First they’ll go blue and purple, and everyone will be able to see them. They’re all going to think we manhandle him in here, won’t they, sire?” 

The king nodded at Mogar’s words.

“Then they’ll go green, and won’t that match his lovely new clothes nicely?” Mogar paused to scan Gavin appreciatively. Gavin swallowed, the taste of bile unpleasant in his throat.

“It’s highly unlikely, though. It won’t be a nice green like that one. It’ll be a sickly green, an awful green. A green I would never want our dear Gavin here to wear ever again.”

Mogar caressed the finger-shaped bruises with hot hands that set the slightly burning pain on a knife-edge.

“And finally, they’ll turn yellow, a decaying sort of yellow–”

Gavin retched over the side of the throne, and Mogar caught his shoulders and sat him back up, and there were hands everywhere trying to calm him down, cold and hot and cold and hot and a cool voice telling him it would be alright but he definitely didn’t feel alright, not with this fiery explosion of a man standing next to him slowly breaking down one of his own trusted inner circle.

And then Jeremy was gone, and Gavin didn’t know where he was being taken or if he was going to come back, and the king talked to him softly while Mogar held him, gently but firmly.

The abrupt character change from both of them made Gavin burst into tears. 

The king and Mogar looked at each other with mild alarm.

“Gavin, it’s– shit, it’s alright. Calm down, we aren’t going to kill him. He’s one of the best we have, and, well, he’s like family.” Mogar rubbed Gavin’s shoulders in an attempt at sympathy, but Gavin brushed him off and scrambled to his feet. The king’s expression barely faltered, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

“You mean to tell me you despotic idiots consider this a family? And a perfectly normal family it is too! A man in a bear suit, the hired muscle, their new pet Roman and the king who brings them back a city as a gift from Daddy’s weekly conquests! It’s sickening!” Gavin’s tears flowed faster and his voice raised in pitch.

The king’s expression hardened. “And here we were, Mogar, thinking that if we offered him sympathy he’d see we meant no harm.”

Mogar sighed. “A pity. We could’ve made him great if only he’d cooperated with us.”

“I’m not about to be indoctrinated into your barbaric cult!” Gavin screamed. “I would rather die!”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Well, if that’s the case, then, so be it. It would be such a shame for us mar this fine instance of the Roman physique…”

Gavin brushed the tears away from his cheeks and held his head high, bracing for an impact.

“So we won’t.”

“What?” Gavin spluttered.

“It’s simple. You refuse to cooperate with our wishes, so we refuse to cooperate with yours – I mean, that is what you want, right? You’d rather die than spend another minute in our company. Less sympathetic rulers would have you slaughtered for insolence.” The king clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Oh, Gavin, Gavin, Gavin. You realise that your inability to control yourself is what got you into this situation? We’re going to need to remedy that.”

The king scanned the room pensively, absently running his fingers over the fur of Mogar’s hood.

“Geoff, go with Mogar and take Gavin with you. He needs to learn how we run a kingdom.”

The king’s hand fell down Mogar’s back and lingered at his waist as he stood and readjusted the bear’s head over his own. Strong arms managed to contain Gavin’s gangly limbs and march him out of the throne room, with Geoff keeping an obedient pace behind them.

It really was a shame Gavin was so opposed to him. The king had no trouble envisioning the Roman by his side, clad in the green that suited him so well with gold sitting in his hair. Mogar was a fine companion to have, that was true, but Gavin…Gavin seemed fit for royalty.

The king wondered why Roman society didn’t revere the green-eyed gift that had been sitting quietly amongst them for so long, why he hadn’t been kept in the house of power and displayed like a crown jewel. The first step, he thought, would be to get Gavin more decent clothes without looking like he cared. He had an image to uphold, after all.


	3. tabula rasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin is finally learning.
> 
> (warning for bangin' in this chapter)
> 
> _tabula rasa – a clean slate_

“What are we going to do with you?” Mogar seemed genuinely frustrated with Gavin, pacing the room in long, angry strides. Gavin sat stiffly and sourly, glancing at Geoff occasionally, but the guard was evidently ignoring him.

“We can’t trust you in the guard because we don’t know if you have any outside connections. I don’t think you’re suited to the kitchen, and Jack would mother you to death if you hung around for too long. And you seem too weak for working outdoors or training to fight.”

Mogar ran his hands through his hair, pushing his hood off to yank at his curls. He made a noise of exasperation and sighed. “I guess you could be part of the domestic staff. You’d have a lot to learn, though. What did you do before we brought you here? Might give us an idea.”

“I, uh…” Gavin shifted uncomfortably.

“Come on, Gavin, the emperor’s going to have died before you tell me.”

“I…worked in the theatres?”

Mogar’s expression was flat. “You did what.”

“I worked in the theatres,” Gavin repeated with a touch more confidence.

“Did you act? Did you write plays? What did you do? Anything that’d be of use here?”

“Made ‘em look nice. Sometimes acted, I did a few tragedies. I was Oedipus once. Nothing much, really.”

Mogar somehow managed to look even more irritated. “So one of the most fucking useless professions in the Roman empire. How did you manage to live when you weren’t working?”

Gavin frowned. “ _Panem et circenses_ , Mogar, that’s all a man needs in Rome. And I had a…friend who was a legionary. The salt pay managed to let us live comfortably enough.”

“God, why couldn’t the useful-sounding legionary be a big-mouthed idiot?” Mogar lamented to an empty corner.

Gavin shrugged at Geoff, who shrugged back.

“So…what’ll I be doing, then?”

Mogar gaped, then dramatically turned on his heel to stalk out of the room. “I need to discuss with the king. Geoff, just…” He waved a hand in vexation. “Just make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

Geoff nodded, and Gavin snickered quietly when Mogar’s raised voice began echoing back through the halls.

* * *

The king sat, poring over maps, when Mogar whirled into the room.

“I don’t think there is anything he can do without making a mess of it! I don’t even know what we’re trying to do with this god damned useless thespian!”

“Now, really, he can’t be–”

“I’m telling you, Ryan, he is!” The king looked startled at the harsh sound of his name in the quiet room. “There is no duty idiot-proof enough in this whole fucking fortress!”

“Well, I did say we should–”

“I never said I wanted to kill him–”

“That’s not what I–”

“–you know I’d never be able to live with myself! I only said he’s a–”

“Michael!”

Mogar stopped, red in the face, the use of his name silencing him.

“While I do agree he does seem like a bit of a halfwit, I think we could challenge him. No, Michael, don’t look like that,” he added, seeing Mogar open his mouth to talk again. “I’m not going to overwork him or put him somewhere where we’ll never see him. In fact, quite the opposite. I think he should be our…” The king paused, trying to find the word. “Attendant? Page? What would you call it?”

“I have no idea, but I like what you think.”

“Of course you do. That’s why I’m the brains and you’re the brawn. So, that’s sorted.” The king turned his head back to the complex borderlines and the difficult Latin titles.

A warm kiss pressed to his temple made him smile, and when he turned, Mogar was gone.

* * *

Gavin had begun counting the tiles in the floor mosaic. He’d reached just over five hundred little green-blue tiles when Mogar hastened back into the room.

“The king has decided that you will wait on the two of us while we attend to our duties.”

Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Really? He’s trusting the – how did you put it? – the ‘useless thespian’ with that kind of duty? Seems bloody irresponsible, if you ask me.”

Mogar spluttered, and Geoff added, rather unhelpfully, “Not like you were very quiet about it, sir.”

“It doesn’t matter what I called you! What matters is that you are now a part of the king’s staff, and you need to learn to act like it!”

“You aren’t going to teach me, aren’t you? I don’t think you’d be able to put up with me waffling on about nothing for very long,” Gavin remarked, and Mogar pulled the bear’s head lower onto his own.

“You are damn right about that, Gavin.” Seeing Geoff’s hopeful expression, he added, “And no, Ramsey, you can’t take charge of him either. You’re the head of the royal guard and I don’t need you slacking off on that any more than you already do!”

Mogar began to pace again. He seemed to do that a lot in Gavin’s presence.

“Jeremy’s terrified to be in the same room as you. Jack would be way too nice. You and Lindsay would get along too well. Maybe Matt? Maybe Trevor?”

“Or you could just throw him in headfirst with both of them and see what happens,” Geoff tried.

Mogar sighed, and Gavin had to hold in his laughter at Mogar’s vexation.

“Sure, why not. I’ll tell Trevor you’re with him tomorrow, then Matt. They can alternate. They’ll be fine, I think.”

“Are they going to be less likely to get mad at me?” Gavin asked, feigning innocence.

Mogar let out a scream of frustration and stormed out of the room.

* * *

Trevor was not a bard, as Gavin had first suspected. He was, rather, an alchemist, repurposed and placed in charge of the king’s armaments. Gavin found this out when he first sought out Trevor, and found him touching a flame to a strange substance.

Trevor ran, and tackled Gavin to the ground behind a makeshift barricade. A series of bangs and pops lit up through the gaps in the barricade, and when he was sure the noises had stopped, he stood and helped Gavin to his feet, brushing him down briskly.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed.

Gavin looked almost star-struck. “That was bloody top!”

Trevor did not teach him how to explode things. Trevor instead taught him how to carry trays and pitchers, and to bow without spilling anything, and to maintain a disposition suiting his new responsibility. Gavin learned to hold his tongue, and to speak when spoken to, and to act demurely.

“And remember,” Trevor told him at the end of every lesson, “you are only the staff. You are invisible unless they want you to be.”

Matt, it turned out, was from somewhere in the North, but refused to say if he was a Viking. He was easygoing, but somewhat lax, and Gavin had to hassle him about keeping up their lessons on a regular basis. Matt taught him how to catch whatever was thrown at him, and to test the king’s chalice for poison, and to take a blow should he displease anyone.

“You may just be their attendant, but they’ll be reliant on you. You should be able to hold your own, but not enough to make them worry,” he told Gavin while wiping the dirt briskly off his face. Gavin screwed up his nose and rolled his eyes while Matt mothered him after their sessions.

Both Matt and Trevor also taught him a few things the king wouldn’t necessarily approve of. Matt taught him how to wield a battle-axe similar to the ones that hung above the doorways, and Trevor showed him how to fire arrows with speed and precision. They showed him how to shield himself from blows, with his body and with whatever he had. Trevor showed him how to brandish the lighter, thinner swords, and Matt instructed him on the art of the heavier broadswords.

They eventually deemed him fit for work, although Trevor still joked his archery was terrible, and Mogar watched appreciatively as Gavin balanced a well-piled tray and a pitcher above his head for the king to select from.

“He’s done well,” the king commented, spearing a fig off the tray with an ornate knife.

Gavin didn’t even flinch at the blow of the knife.

“What do you think, Mogar?” The king cut out an even segment and tossed it to Mogar.

“Mm,” Mogar agreed through the mouthful of fruit, taking another messy bite.

Matt and Trevor looked pleased where they stood.

The pitcher was lifted from Gavin’s steady hand and two chalices were filled. Gavin felt a weight lifted from his arm and the pitcher settled back into his other hand.

The king handed a bronze cup to Mogar and raised his own silver one in a silent toast. They drank together.

“Matt and Trevor, I highly commend you. He’s a changed man.” The king raised his glass again.

“Gavin, look at me.”

Gavin raised his eyes to meet the king’s.

“Have you learned yet? _Auctoritas non veritas facit legem_. Authority, not truth, is what rules. That is the way of the world, Gavin.”

“Sire, if you will permit me saying, your Latin is much to be admired. If you would be willing to accept the service, I could teach you, if you like.” Gavin maintained a neutral expression.

The king looked stunned. “The idea has potential. However, let’s not be too hasty. You are still to prove your worth, but I believe you are fit for service.”

Gavin bowed. “Thank you, sire.”

Mogar drained the remaining liquid in his cup. “And when you return, bring us another pitcher.”

“Yes, sir.”

Standing and straightening, Gavin exited the room, the guards trailing behind him.

“He looks almost dignified,” the king murmured.

“God, I would love to ruin him if he’d let me,” Mogar sighed, and leaned against the king’s leg wistfully.

The king ruffled the fur of Mogar’s hood and laughed at the annoyed yelp. “You need some self-control, Michael. You can’t just go around destroying true beauty.”

Fixing his hood, Mogar eased himself up from his position on the floor next to the throne and stretched, sighing at the satisfying crack of his joints. 

“So no fucking the pretty boy senseless for now, got it. Can’t argue with that, but God, he’s infuriating. Why have we kept him again?”

The king laughed and pulled Mogar by the hips onto the throne with him. “Because someone thought he was pretty.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was you. And that was before I heard him go on forever with his made up words!”

“He’ll learn.” The king rested his forehead against Mogar’s and exhaled. “You make this whole dealing with gorgeous but annoying prisoners thing so much easier. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Michael.”

Mogar laughed and bumped his nose against the king’s. “Ryan, I think you would be doing just fine without me. You’re smart, you’re eloquent, your dashing good looks aren’t exactly working against you…” He trailed off and waved a hand flippantly before pressing a gentle kiss beside the king’s mouth. “What more could you want from a king?”

“A second-in-command like yourself,” laughed the king as Mogar kissed the other side of his mouth.

The king smiled as Mogar continued to place kisses along his jawline, and moved his hands up to slide Mogar’s hood back, revealing his bright coppery hair. Winding it between his fingers, he pulled Mogar up to connect their lips. Mogar sighed contentedly against him and slid a hand down to the fasteners on the king’s tunic, lazily pawing at them until they opened and revealed the king’s chest, battle-scarred under the sparse blonde hair.

Fumbling with the fur at Mogar’s waist, the king loosened the decorative belt, with one hand resting at the nape of Mogar’s neck. Cool hands slid the tanned hide pants down his legs and returned to settle comfortably in the small of Mogar’s back. He made a small noise of satisfaction against the king’s collarbone and pressed his hips forward to the king’s kilt. Exhaling heavily, the king guided one of Mogar’s hands downwards.

Biting gently on the king’s collarbone, Mogar’s hands skidded up along the king’s legs, pushing his kilt up and revealing his half-hard member.

“Are you – ngh – are you still okay from last time?” the king murmured breathily as Mogar slowly stroked a hand up his length.

Taking his hand away from the now-hard king, Mogar reached a tattooed arm behind himself and slid a couple of fingers in with ease. He nodded and shifted his position on the king’s lap.

Licking a long stripe over the palm of his hand, Mogar took the king in hand again, spreading saliva and precome over the king’s cock. They should really have oil in this room, Mogar thought, but shrugged it off at the low moan from the king.

“Hurry up,” the king complained.

Positioning the king at his entrance, Mogar leaned in close and growled, “Yes, your majesty,” before sinking down in one fluid movement, feeling the king stretch him and relishing the burn.

His movements slightly restricted by the arms of the throne, Mogar was only too happy to let the king take control, feeling the king’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of his ass. The throne room was quiet except for the slap of skin on skin and their quiet breathing and murmurs of each others’ names.

The king lazily took Mogar’s bobbing cock between them and tugged at it slowly, keeping a quick pace with the rolls of his hips. Mogar muffled his moan in the king’s neck and bucked into his hand.

“God, Ryan! I’m – ah! – so close, oh god,” Mogar rambled as the king kept up his steady pace.

His pants and gasps were interrupted by the smash of clay on the tiles outside the throne room.

The king raised his head over Mogar’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow at the frozen form of Gavin, standing shocked in the doorway with the remains of a clay pitcher at his feet. A glare from the king sent him fleeing in a jangle of gold chain.

Mogar, unaware of the disturbance, groaned and came, spilling over the king’s hand and clenching around the cock inside him. A few erratic thrusts had the king coming inside Mogar, pressing his mouth to Mogar’s temple and whispering _I love you_ s against the hot skin.

The king slid out, and Mogar whined in protest at the feeling. The king rolled his eyes and pulled Mogar into a clumsy embrace.

Mogar winced as one leg rested on the arm of the throne and the other dangled next to the king’s legs. “Can you, uh, move one of my legs? I can feel your come falling out and my ass hurts.”

“Yes, dear.” The king slipped an arm under Mogar’s knees and brought them together to rest on the throne.

“Also, what was that noise?”

The king leaned down to kiss Mogar again. “What noise, darling? I think you were imagining things.”

Mogar shrugged and flopped back into the king’s lap.

Running his fingers through Mogar’s hair, the king inwardly fumed. He was going to have to have a serious conversation with Gavin. And the sooner he could get him out of the servants’ quarters, the better it would be for all of them.


	4. post proelia praemia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they're not as bad as all that.
> 
> _post proelia praemia – after the battles come the rewards_

Gavin bolted around several corners before skidding to a stop to catch his breath.

_Calm down, Gavin, you were just imagining things_ , he told himself.

But it would have been pretty hard to imagine Mogar sat on the king’s lap, begging for him to move faster, harder–

Gavin inwardly hit himself. _No_ , he was _not_ going to think about that.

What he was going to do, was go and get another pitcher, and bring it back, and pretend that he had seen nothing.

Good idea. Pretend he hadn’t just seen the king and his right-hand man fucking on the seat of power.

He must have still looked a little dazed and confused when he passed Geoff on his return to the throne room.

“Hey, Gavin, what’s up? You don’t look the greatest.” Geoff took him lightly by the shoulders in fatherly concern.

“Wha–? No, I’m fine. Just – saw something I probably shouldn’t have. But everything’s fine.”

“I’m assuming that’s why there’s broken clay in the doorway of the throne room?” Geoff raised an amused eyebrow.

There was a long pause before Gavin reluctantly admitted that Geoff was right.

“I open the door and I see ‘em going at it like rabbits! Is this just me, or is it weird?”

Geoff was nearly in hysterics laughing at Gavin.

“Oh, fuck. This is– this is a normal thing! Culture shock doesn’t even begin to describe it!” Gavin flailed and Geoff, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, steadied him.

“Calm down, we don’t need more broken pitcher to clean up. Yes, it’s a normal thing and has been for a while. No, it hasn’t been happening the entire time I’ve been here, but yes, we all said it was going to happen.”

“Oh, sweet Venus, Geoff, please don’t tell me you’re part of this barbarian messed-up whatever it is.” Gavin’s head hurt. He could accept the king and Mogar as being an item – hell, he’d even been involved in a few similar things himself – but any more than that? That was pretty weird, even by Roman standards.

And he could admit that Roman standards were rather strange.

A look of mild disgust crossed Geoff’s face. “Alright, first of all, haven’t you seen Jack and I? And second of all, even though they’re my friends and I love them dearly, I have no desire to sleep with either of them. Especially not at the same time. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep referring to us as barbarians. We’re actually pretty civilised.”

Gavin nodded slowly, the shock slowly ebbing away. “It’s still weird for me to think about, though.”

“Then don’t think about it, simple!”

“Right. Okay. Don’t think about the gorgeous king and his beautiful second-in-command doing terrible things where anyone could walk in on them.” Geoff screwed up his face, but Gavin’s thoughts continued down a slippery slope. “What if they want me to be involved in this whole thing?”

Geoff groaned. “Nope, I do not need to think about that. That is where I draw the line. You can keep walking now, Gavin, I do not need to hear any more of this.”

Flushing slightly, Gavin shifted the pitcher in his hands and carried onwards.

_Still a bit weird to think about, though._

* * *

Gavin momentarily shut his eyes as he opened the heavy door once more. He deemed the silence in the room to be a good sign, and held his breath as he opened his eyes.

Mogar lay on the king’s lap, more decent than he was at Gavin’s last visit. The king was running his hand through Mogar’s hair, gently twirling the curls in his fingers. There was a soft smile on his face as he looked down at the resting bear on his lap. It hardened as he saw that Gavin was the one who had entered.

“Be quiet, he’s sleeping,” the king murmured in a low but carrying voice.

Gavin nodded and rested the pitcher beside the two goblets.

“And before you leave, I strongly recommend you knock before opening a door.”

“Yes, sire.”

Mogar made a small noise in his sleep, and Gavin didn’t notice he was smiling until the king coughed pointedly at him.

“Sorry, sire, it’s just– he seems so small.”

“And?”

“Well, he normally seems so big and powerful and intimidating. He looks kind of cute.”

The king chuckled and looked down at Mogar with affection. “You’re right. He tries so hard to be a wild bear, when really he’s not much more scary than a pet dog.”

Gavin laughed quietly. The king’s presence was warm and friendly now, a stark contrast to when Gavin had first arrived, and he accepted the offer gratefully when the king gestured for him to sit.

“So, um, if you don’t mind me asking–”

The king waved a hand. “Not at all. You obviously have some questions.”

_That doesn’t even begin to cover it_ , Gavin thought.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you…” Gavin gestured and the king nodded with realisation.

“Not really sure. We were outcasts from our clans. His thought he was too weak and mine thought I was too clever for them. So we teamed up, made a few friends and enemies along the way, and then, well…” The king shrugged. “One thing led to another. I’m not really going to question it too much, though. It all seems to have worked out pretty well.”

“Wait, what? How could they think Mogar was weak?”

The king laughed ruefully, then sighed. “He wasn’t always the bear-man you think he is, Gavin. It took me so long to get him to channel all that anger out into a form he could find useful. Before then, I spent so long holding him as he cried his feelings out onto my shoulder. He wouldn’t fight me because he didn’t think he was good enough and so he wouldn’t try. But I got him out of his shell eventually.”

Gavin’s interest was piqued in Mogar’s story. “And? What happened? How’d you do it?”

“I’m…not entirely sure. I don’t know if he changed because I encouraged him to or of his own accord. And then one day, he came back to our camp one afternoon after a morning of hunting with his skin streaked with blood. No, don’t worry, it wasn’t his own,” the king hastily added at Gavin’s shocked expression. “It was a bear’s. I’d never seen him happier than when he sat and skinned it as the sun went down. Then he tanned the hide and made it into the hood he still wears.” The king stroked the fur almost subconsciously. “I think it’s a reminder to himself. I wish he wouldn’t wear it all the time, though. It does make him smell a lot like…well, bear,” he laughed.

Mogar’s hand fell from where it rested under him and brushed Gavin’s head. Gavin tensed, worried that he would wake up and…well, be Mogar.

But Mogar’s hand only moved back to Gavin’s head and rubbed his hair again, half-asleep. “Soft, Ryan, it’s soft. Like feathers, Rye.”

The king placed his hand over Mogar’s. His fingertips lightly danced through Gavin’s hair as he hummed a low tone of agreement.

Eyes still closed, Mogar murmured, “Ryan, d’you think this is what Gavin’s hair feels like?”

Gavin tried not to react, and the king was evidently trying to hide a laugh, smile spreading up to his eyes. “Maybe, Michael, maybe.”

Mogar’s breathing settled back to the slow rhythm of sleep, and Gavin gingerly moved his arm back to the throne.

“So, Ryan, hmm?” Gavin smirked at the king. “Mad King Ryan. Has kind of a ring to it.”

* * *

Mogar only remembered dreamlike snatches of conversation when he blinked awake to the king tangling his fingers through his hair.

Letting the curls spiral from around his hand, the king smiled. “Sleep well?”

“Mm. So-so.” Mogar rolled ungracefully from the king’s lap and managed the landing, wincing at the discomfort in his lower back. “Had good dreams.”

“Oh, really? What’d you dream about?”

“No idea, but it had you and Gavin in it. It was nice. Kind of a soft dream, if you know what I mean. I dunno.”

The king nodded. “Sounds like a good dream.”

What he didn’t tell Mogar was that he wasn’t dreaming. The king and Gavin had talked over slowly sipped goblets, about anything and everything, from Gavin’s theatrical career to how the king met his trusted inner circle. Gavin had listened with interest, and the king marvelled at the finer points of Roman society, aspects that he hadn’t seen when manipulating the diplomats.

They hadn’t noticed hours had passed until Geoff came in to report that all was well, and Gavin had hastily stood, making an excuse to leave behind Geoff. The king held him back by his arm.

“Don’t go yet. You don’t have to. They’ll understand if you were in here with me.”

Gavin had smiled, a small, sad smile, and shook his head. “I may be your servant, but I also have other duties to attend to. Besides, you wouldn’t be happy if I fell over on the job because I didn’t eat.”

And placing a gentle kiss to the king’s temple, and a softer one to Mogar’s forehead, Gavin had left the room in a quiet clink of gold.

Mogar straightened to standing, and tugged his hood back over his head. “I should be on guard tonight. It’s been a while since I patrolled.”

The king nodded slowly. “Go down to the kitchens and have something to eat before you go. Stay safe, alright?”

Mogar kissed his cheek. “You should be more worried for anyone who wants to try and get past me.”

His claymore glistened on the wall, and he took it down carefully and slid it into its scabbard on his back.

“Did you see Gavin?” Mogar asked conversationally.

The king considered making up a reason why he hadn’t seen Gavin, but decided against it. “He came in afterwards. We talked. He has a good voice. I’m amazed he wasn’t part of the higher society.”

“If he was, you would have killed him,” Mogar reasoned.

“That’s a fair point. I–” The king paused as he debated whether or not to continue. “I want him out of servitude as soon as possible. It’s not fair to his potential, but of course I don’t want him to know that yet.”

“He’s starting to warm up to us though. You, especially, by the sounds of it.” Mogar smiled and bowed, an action which he knew was unnecessary, and the king smiled in return as he watched the bear-hood shut the door behind him.

Stretching, the king stood, fixing the crown that still sat on his head. Matt locked the door as he left, smiling warmly at him.

“A good day, sire?”

The king nodded, and Matt led the way to the bedchambers by torchlight.


	5. hostis humani generis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mogar doesn't deal with confrontation well.
> 
> _hostis humani generis – enemy of the human race_

Mogar climbed the last of the steps up to the battlements, one hand on the hilt of his sword and one holding a blazing torch aloft. The half-moon hung in a nearly-cloudless starry sky, and he scanned the stones around him before lifting his gaze to the low lights of the city.

A movement behind him made him turn sharply, and the torch threw shadows onto the angles of Jeremy’s face. Mogar exhaled slightly, but tightened his grip on his sword.

“Evening, Jeremy.” 

Jeremy saluted in response. “Been fairly quiet so far. I’ll take the other side of the roof?”

Mogar nodded, and turned his back on Jeremy.

A strong arm locked itself around Mogar’s throat and something cold and hard pressed against his neck. Jeremy chuckled from behind him.

“You haven’t been on duty for a while, Mogar. What’s happened? You used to be so willing to stand guard and fight, but now I think you’ve gone soft.”

Mogar growled and rammed an elbow back into the soft flesh of Jeremy’s stomach. Jeremy recoiled with a grunt, and Mogar whirled around, drawing his sword and holding it defensively in front of him. The torch fell to the ground and went out, sending smoke up to the stars.

“It’s not just you, either. It’s the king as well. Everyone in this whole damn place has forgotten what we came here for!” Jeremy panted.

He leapt forwards, but Mogar side-stepped and blocked his blow. The shorter blade rang against Mogar’s own as he parried the jabs with his sword and the hard leathery hide on his wrists.

Another vicious blow laid Jeremy on his knees, clutching an aching side and cursing Mogar’s name.

“Jeremy, you know you can’t win!” Mogar taunted. “But by all means, do go on. You were saying?”

“It’s Gavin, isn’t it?” Jeremy wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “The king doesn’t want to break him down like everyone else. The king wants to keep him around, someone who he barely knows and could be out to get him for all we know. And you! You’re worried for him. You think he’s not going to survive if you leave. You care, Mogar.”

Mogar froze, blade lowering slightly. “And why should you care about how I feel?”

“Because you nearly had me killed for that Roman bastard!” Jeremy lunged forwards and Mogar dropped below the swing of his blade, feeling the flat of the metal rush over his head. A sharp scratch caught his stomach and he roared, brandishing his sword with a driving strike that went through the leather of Jeremy’s armour.

“Don’t you dare speak about him that way,” Mogar snarled, tugging his sword out brutally. “If you keep up these kinds of shenanigans, I might start to say that Gavin’s more of a man than you could ever be.”

Jeremy felt disbelievingly at the hole in his chest, the red blood trailing through his fingers.

“So the mighty Mogar does have a heart,” he muttered.

“I’ll take out your fucking heart if you say another word against him. I’m halfway there already. I think that you can explain this to the king.” Jeremy’s sword clattered to the ground and Mogar finally lowered his blade, hands loosening around the grip.

Footsteps echoed in the stairs, and the flicker of torchlight illuminated Trevor’s shocked face.

“What– Mogar, what did you do?” Trevor stepped forward hesitantly to see the damage, but a low growl from Mogar held him back.

“Nothing that he didn’t deserve. You know I don’t act without reason, Trevor. I’ll keep watch the rest of the night. Take him down and the king will deal with him in the morning.” The look on Mogar’s face suggested that any questions would have painful answers.

“Y–yes, sir,” Trevor stammered.

Mogar picked up the smoking torch and touched it to Trevor’s. The flame leapt back to life, and Trevor began the unsteady descent with Jeremy.

Mogar heard his hushed voice as the pair went down into the villa, and turned out to face the rapidly darkening city.

He was on the other side of the ramparts when the sun began to rise behind him.

* * *

Gavin blinked slowly awake at the shuffling and whispering in the servants’ quarters.

“Matt, give me a hand. Get him into his bed, this one here. Geoff, get us some water. Hot, if you can. The fires are probably out, though.”

“Mmf?” Trevor’s pale face seemed even paler in the dim light as he whipped around to face Gavin.

“Oh, you’re awake too, Gavin. Alright, that’s good. More hands. Go and tell the king his boyfriend went off at Jeremy and will explain in the morning once he’s down from watch, then come back here and help us clean him up. You’re practically fucking the king now, anyways, you’re probably the best person to send seeing as it’s your boyfriend’s fault this happened.” Trevor seemed to be everywhere except looking at Gavin.

“My what now?” Gavin asked, confused, but Trevor was now laying Jeremy on his stripped bed, Matt holding the bundle of blankets out of the way.

“Shit shit shit shit _shit_!” Jeremy’s battle-torn armour and tunic had been carefully removed, and the wound was revealed in its horrific glory. “Where the hell is Geoff? Gone to the fucking caldarium, I bet.”

The sight of the dark hole where pale skin and paler scars had once been was too much. Gavin gagged, feeling the familiar unwelcome burn in his throat, and hurried out of the room, taking down a torch from the wall as he left.

The corridors of the villa were cold in the night, and Gavin was glad for the flame warming his hands.

He’d never been in this part unaccompanied before. Trevor had told him not to walk in these halls unless it was a dire emergency or he’d been invited.

Trevor seemed to think an invitation was likely.

The door looked much the same as the others in the villa, but Gavin’s torchlight danced over glimmering golden inlay. Moving the torch to his other hand, Gavin knocked three times and pushed the door open slightly.

The king was sat bolt upright, tense, but relaxed and yawned when he saw Gavin’s form in the doorway. “Oh, thank goodness, it’s just you. Were you sent by anyone, or…?” The king’s expression was muddy in the dim light of Gavin’s torch.

“Trevor sent me. He– he didn’t explain very well, only said my ‘boyfriend’ went off at Jeremy and by Jupiter’s lightning, he looks awful.” Gavin shuddered at the memory. “Trevor said you’d get a proper explanation in the morning. I still don’t know what he’s talking about.”

The king’s expression seemed to flicker – or was it the torchlight? Gavin couldn’t tell – and the furs on the bed were thrown back. Gavin averted his eyes politely, holding the torch out as the king padded sleepily across the room to slide on a tunic.

In the torchlight as they walked back to the servants’ quarters, Gavin thought the king looked strange without the crown sitting on his head. His hair was mussed from sleep and the cold air seemed to wake him up as they walked. He didn’t seem like a cunning, powerful leader in the dark of the night.

The king seemed to snap into focus as Gavin pushed open the door. Matt looked up at the sound, dripping cloth still in hand over the bowl Geoff held.

“Move.” The king’s voice carried in the tense air of the room, and Gavin followed obediently behind with the light. Trevor stood stiffly by Jeremy’s head as the king bent over the bed, hands pressing at Jeremy’s throat and wrists.

“How much blood did he lose?” the king asked quietly.

No one replied. Trevor raised a hand and held up a cloth covered in drying red-brown. Gavin coughed and retched, and the king reached a hand behind to steady both him and the light.

“Although the wound is now clean – for which I commend you, it’s an excellent job – it’s still open. Is there anything you can do to cover it?”

“If there is,” Trevor said tersely, “we’re a bit late for that.”

“His breathing is already shallow. I would be surprised if he makes it through the night.” The king waited for some kind of reaction, but there was none. “My condolences to you, Geoff. You’ve lost a fine fighter tonight.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room. Jeremy was young, and only recently taken into the king’s guard. He’d been eager to please, and had only been uncomfortable with his position since Gavin’s arrival. Gavin felt very out of place and guilty in the dark room.

“I wonder what got into Mogar?” Matt mused aloud.

“Matt, you know if I didn’t know that Mogar would not hesitate to skin me alive, I would have given the bastard what he gave Jeremy.” Trevor swayed slightly, and staggered. Matt moved to support his elbow, but Trevor brushed him off with a mutter that sounded like, “I’m fine.”

“Trevor, I’ll ask you to refrain from speaking about Mogar like that. In my opinion, you need to sleep. If you don’t think you can, you know where the wine is. Drink it straight, I don’t care how uncivilised you think you seem. That’s an order. We’ll clean the rest of this mess up and point fingers in the morning.” The king sighed, and it turned into a yawn. “Gavin, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Yes, sire.”

The walk back to the king’s quarters was silent, the only noise the soft pad of their out-of-sync footsteps and the creak of the heavy door to the king’s room.

Gavin waited at the door, unsure if he should move further into the room. When the king turned to look at him expectantly, Gavin hastened forward.

“I don’t think I’ll manage to sleep the rest of the night,” the king admitted with a rueful chuckle.

“Do…do you want me here, sire? Would I be intruding?”

The king waved a hand. “No! No, it’s fine. I mean, if you want to go back and sleep, you can. Although, to be completely honest, you probably won’t get much sleep with them all fussing around in there.” He stretched his arms above his head and Gavin tried not to stare at the muscle that shifted underneath the fabric. “You could sleep in my bed for the night. I won’t be using it.”

“A–are you sure?”

“Of course.”

Gavin hesitated, then fitted the torch into its bracket by the door. The bedlinen was rumpled from where the king had been sleeping – quite restlessly, it seemed. The covers were still folded back from his abrupt awakening, and Gavin was surprised to find a few pockets of heat still lingering when he pulled the blankets over himself.

The warmth and softness embraced him, and as he drifted off, Gavin wondered if he would ever have this luxury again.


	6. exitus acta probat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mogar learns, Gavin falls and the king is there to watch.
> 
> _exitus acta probat – the outcome justifies the deed_

The sunrise streamed through the window, making the king’s light hair glow as he studied the delicate Latin script on the scroll in front of him.

Thin arms wrapped gently around him from behind, very different to the muscled arms of Mogar. The king smiled and turned to face Gavin’s tentative smile.

“Thank you for letting me sleep,” Gavin murmured, half-awake and still bleary-eyed.

“Any time. You’re always welcome here.”

“Really? I’m just the household staff, you shouldn’t just go offering that to me. I might take advantage of it.” Gavin yawned and wiped the sleep out of his eyes, then peered over the king’s shoulder. “Ovid’s _Tristia_? Isn’t that a little complicated for your Latin-comprehending abilities, if you don’t mind me saying so?”

The king huffed. “I’m improving. I’m learning this better than I did Greek.”

Gavin made a face, and leant further over the document. “Would you like me to help you read it?”

“No.” The king folded his arms and turned away from Gavin. “Maybe,” he amended quietly.

Gavin chuckled lightly, and with a few prompts, the king was able to hesitantly read a paragraph aloud to him.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, teacher and student, until the midmorning sun beamed cheerily onto a particularly difficult section.

“I think Ovid can wait for another day. Good sir Gavin, would you care to join me for breakfast?” The king mock-bowed and Gavin laughed.

“It would be a pleasure, my liege.” Gavin wasn’t sure where this noble treatment was coming from, but he certainly couldn’t complain.

The king straightened his kilt and, tutting, fixed Gavin’s gold chains. He proffered an arm, and Gavin took it, grinning.

“Shall we?”

Mogar was sat angrily on a couch, biting viciously at an apple, with Trevor standing apprehensively beside him, when the king and Gavin entered. The tension surrounding them made Gavin’s heart sink from its happy beat into his stomach.

At the same time, Trevor and Mogar spoke.

“He’s dead.”

“I killed him.”

“You did it? Why would you do that?”

The king didn’t respond, only dropped Gavin’s arm and gently pushed him towards a seat. Gavin sat and laid back in a daze.

Mogar mumbled something Gavin didn’t catch, and the king sighed.

“Well, why don’t you tell him that, then?”

Mogar crossed his arms sulkily. “No.”

“Would you rather I did?”

“What– shit, no!”

Trevor saw the bickering as an opportunity to leave. Gavin attempted to follow him out, but without even turning around, the king said, “No, Gavin, you stay here. Mogar has something to tell you.”

“I fucking don’t!”

“Yes, you do.”

“Does he?”

“He does.” Mogar spluttered, red in the face, as the king looked disapprovingly at him.

“Alright! Fine! Jeremy was saying I’d gotten too attached to you, and called me weak for it. It was to prove a fucking point!” Mogar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Prove the point right, that is.”

Gavin sat, stunned, mind racing. “I– what?”

Mogar groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Great. Absolutely fantastic. I tell him I killed a man because I love him, and he doesn’t get it.”

“You did what for me, _Michael_?” Mogar flinched at the use of his name.

“How many times do you want me to say it, you idiot?”

Gavin grinned gently. “One more should do it.”

“Fine, you asshole, I lo–mmf.” Mogar was cut off by Gavin pressing their lips together softly.

“You’re cute,” Gavin smiled as he pulled away and tapped Mogar lightly on the nose.

Realising the king was still there seemed to flick a switch in Gavin and he turned around worriedly to face him. “You aren’t– I mean, are you–? Are you okay with this? I know you’re– I hope I’m not–” Gavin blathered.

The king smiled. “It’s alright, Gavin. We’re not inseparable. Mogar and I have discussed this, you know, and if you’re not interested, I won’t force you. More than anything, we want you to be happy.”

Gavin visibly relaxed into Mogar. “Thank you, sire.” He pressed a kiss into Mogar’s auburn hair, and frowned slightly when he pulled away.

“What is it?” Mogar looked at Gavin, questioning.

“Just…promise me one thing?”

“Of course.”

“Promise me you won’t kill anyone else for my honour. I’m really quite capable of taking care of myself.”

Mogar scoffed. “You taking care of yourself is about as likely as Mercury offering you his shoes with wings or whatever he has, but I think that’s a promise I can keep.”

Gavin rolled his eyes at Mogar’s description of the god, and leaned back in close. “Ryan, you were right, he does smell like bear.”

The king failed to stifle his raucous laughter.

* * *

Gavin was walked down to Jack’s sanctuary the next day by a grinning Geoff.

“He’s back, and boy, is he moving up in the world!” Geoff announced as he shoved Gavin towards him.

“So a bit more class now, hmm?” Jack’s eyes gleamed as he surveyed Gavin. “Good. This looked tacky as fuck on you. Lucky for you I kept the rest of that green, then, isn’t it?”

He led Geoff and Gavin through the hanging white linen, and sat them in a corner while he paced the reams of fabric.

“So, which one did you snag? Or are you somehow enough of a catch to have seduced the dynamic duo?” Jack’s voice was muffled by the green fabric he held.

“Jack!”

“Oh, Jack, dear, Gavin’s doing it with the bear-man and the king wants in as well!” Geoff crowed, and Gavin half-heartedly slapped him.

“I’m not ready to take him up on that offer yet, Geoff! Mogar’s going to be enough of a handful as it is!”

Jack snickered as he laid out lengths of cloth, and Gavin turned crimson at the double entendre.

“Well, congratulations on your quick-tempered boyfriend, Gavin.”

“ _Gratias_.”

Jack picked up a needle and began to sew. “Geoff, you can find him some breeches and hose. Make sure they match.”

“Yes, love.”

Gavin reluctantly handed the soft green of what was his tunic back to Jack and tugged on pair after pair of surprisingly comfortable woollen breeches.

“Good enough,” Geoff eventually concluded, and threw him a pair of leather boots. “You should be a similar fit to me.”

Gavin pulled them on. The new leather creaked slightly as he took a few steps and jumped lightly.

“The leather’ll soften up soon enough.” Geoff stepped back and surveyed Gavin. “Looking good, kid. Though I’d really prefer it if you put a shirt on. Why’s Mogar after this again?”

“Sod off, Geoff, you’re just jealous.” Gavin struck a pose, struggling to hold it as he laughed.

Jack rolled his eyes and threw a bundle of fabric at him. “Put it on, idiot.”

Gavin wrangled his arms through the long sleeves and pulled it over his head, hair crackling and standing on end from the static wool.

“Well?”

Jack nodded slowly. “It’s a good look.”

Geoff frowned a little. “I don’t know, it feels like there’s something missing.”

“Well, I’ll give him a belt, obviously.”

“No, no, something else.”

Jack’s forehead creased in thought. “What if…”

“What if what?” Gavin asked.

Jack unfurled the last of the cloth from the robe Gavin had first arrived in and draped it over his shoulder, pinning the corners together above his left collarbone with an ornate gold brooch. A dark leather belt with a similarly shiny buckle was fastened around the dark earthy green of his new tunic.

“Now that looks better,” Geoff commented. “You look as if you’ve always been here. Good job, dear.” He pressed a kiss to Jack’s bearded cheek.

Gavin mimed throwing up, and Geoff laughed.

“The man who’s got Mogar practically sucking his dick is grossed out by this? When you and Mogar finally fuck, I’m going to follow you around all day afterwards fake-gagging. It might be real gagging by the end of the day, though, what with the way you guys are going,” he added.

No matter how crudely Geoff put it, the fact that Mogar was his now made Gavin grin stupidly and a warm glow rise in his chest.

“Oh, come on, you smitten shit-head, let’s get you back to your lover boy. He’s probably been pining for you in the half-hour you’ve been gone.”

He knew this part of the villa like the back of his hand, but he still let Geoff guide him back to the throne room.

* * *

Mogar didn’t understand why the king had locked himself in his chambers over a map of the north of Africa. He paced the throne room, bear-skin boots padding over the large tiles. Maybe he could find Gavin.

_Gavin_.

A smile spread over his face as the realisation hit him. Gorgeous, sweet, mildly irritating Gavin was _his_. It either had to be a too-good dream or a wonderful reality.

The door creaked slightly as it opened, and Mogar froze when he saw the figure in green enter nervously.

“Mogar?”

Gavin looked almost noble in the forest-like greens and the hints of gold. Closing the distance between them with long strides, Mogar threw his arms over Gavin’s shoulders and hugged him close. Gavin’s stubble scratched against Mogar’s cheek as he hugged back, pushing Mogar’s hood back to curl his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Michael, call me Michael, Gavin, you look so…so regal, I’m so fucking lucky, Gavin,” Mogar sighed, burying his face into the soft fabric of Gavin’s scarf.

“Your face tickles.” Gavin squirmed, giggling, as Mogar pretended to take a bite out of his neck.

“But you love me,” Mogar grinned, and Gavin mirrored his expression.

Mogar’s lips touched Gavin’s, tentatively at first, but gradually with more confidence. Gavin’s lips were thin and slightly chapped against his own, and he opened his mouth willingly for Mogar’s tongue.

Mogar slid his hands down Gavin’s sides, pulling their hips closer together and drawing a small gasp from Gavin. One of Gavin’s hands stayed in Mogar’s hair, the other skimmed down his back.

“God, your hands are so cold!” Mogar hissed, breaking their kiss.

“Sorry!” Gavin chuckled. “Maybe you could help me warm ‘em up?” he added suggestively.

“Those cold hands are not going anywhere near my dick!”

Gavin burst into peals of laughter.

“But because I’m a considerate, warm-handed lover, I’m not going to leave you alone like this.”

Gavin wiped the last tears of laughter from his eyes as Mogar led him to sit in the throne, kneeling at his feet.

“So this is what the king feels like every day,” Gavin murmured, a glint in his eyes.

“What do you wish of me, my liege?” Mogar replied, sarcasm dripping from the words.

“I’m sure you know how to please your king, my brave knight.” Gavin’s voice dropped to a low timbre Mogar didn’t even know was possible for the Roman, but it sent a pleasant shiver up his spine.

“Y-yes, sire.” The sarcasm no longer lingered in his voice, apprehension and arousal replacing it.

Gavin reclined in the throne and fixed him with an expectant gaze, eyebrow cocked smugly. Mogar swallowed. The role suited Gavin very well. Maybe the king had been onto something.

“Get to it, then,” he said offhandedly, and Mogar let out a shaky breath.

Running his hands up Gavin’s thighs, Mogar pushed the fabric of Gavin’s tunic up to reveal his wool-covered bulge. He pressed light kisses along its length and Gavin shivered.

He tugged gently at the ties at Gavin’s waist and pulled the soft tights down. Gavin’s cock stood straight and long, red tip glistening under the foreskin and light curls at its base.

Mogar’s eyes widened, and Gavin smirked.

“See something you like, Michael?”

Mogar ran a finger from tip to base, wrapping his hand around Gavin’s width on the upstroke.

Running a thumb around the head, Mogar watched Gavin’s shuddering gasp with interest. “Yes, Gavin. Yes I do.”

And suddenly Gavin had a hand sharply tangled in his hair, swallowing back a noise as Mogar moved his foreskin, a pearly bead of precome welling at the tip. “Is that any way to speak to your king?”

Mogar winced. “No, sire. I’m deeply sorry. Is there any way I can show my apology?”

With that damned devilish smirk still on his face, Gavin leaned down until their eyes were level. “Suck.”

“Yes, my liege.”

He moved to slide a hand down Gavin’s dick, but Gavin caught his wrist in an icy-cold grip. “Ah, ah, Michael, no hands. Who gave you permission to touch your king?”

Mogar bowed his head in apology and wet his lips, Gavin tracing the movement of his tongue with steady dark eyes and blown pupils.

He licked a broad stripe up Gavin’s length with the flat of his tongue, the thick vein pulsing underneath with Gavin’s rapid heartbeat. He swirled the tip of his tongue around the reddened head and Gavin sighed above him.

“Fuck, Michael, keep going.”

Mogar pulled off, a thread of saliva connecting his lips to Gavin’s cock, and laughed lowly. “Oh, don’t you worry, my liege, I’ve barely even started.”

Gavin gripped the arm of the throne, white-knuckled, and moaned as Mogar breathed deep and took Gavin's cock into his mouth. His hand tightened in Mogar’s hair and pushed him further down until Mogar’s nose was resting just above the curls surrounding his base, setting a rough pace as he moved Mogar’s head to gain some friction. Mogar simply relaxed under him and Gavin choked on a groan as he felt himself slide into the tight heat of Mogar’s throat.

“You look absolutely gorgeous like this, taking my cock so beautifully. Fuck, Michael, for all the filth that comes out of your mouth, it feels like bloody heaven,” Gavin rambled as Mogar stared up at him, wide-eyed and lips swollen and shining as his dick moved slickly between them.

Gavin’s breathing hitched, and Mogar slid a hand down to his own unattended cock, moving in time with the now-erratic pace of Gavin’s hips.

A gasp of his name was the only warning Mogar got before Gavin was spilling down his throat, hot and salty on his tongue. The long line of Gavin’s body seemed to deflate as the aftershocks of his orgasm faded, and the sight of Gavin, blissed-out and sated, was enough to pull Mogar over the edge, come flooding over his hand.

Gavin slid off the throne, a lazy smile gracing his face. He grimaced slightly when he saw Mogar’s come-covered hand.

“I would offer to clean that up for you, but I don’t think I’ve got any more sexy in me after that.”

Mogar scoffed. “I can only imagine.”

* * *

The king was not, as Mogar thought, strategising for battle and planning his next pillaging expedition. It was his original plan to do so, but now he found he couldn’t focus on the maps in front of him. Something else was nagging at him in the back of his mind. Or rather, someone.

A particular green someone.

He stood from his seat and fell unceremoniously into the furs on his bed. To say the least, he was confused and there was a twinge somewhere in his heart that he tried to smother and forget about.

If he’d had it his way, Gavin would not have left his side that morning, nor would he have promptly fallen into Mogar’s lap. Gavin would have stayed close, spent every night curled up in the king’s bed and every day sat on the throne with him with a delicate crown atop his sandy hair.

It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t he dropped enough hints yet? Since the Roman entered the barbarians’ new home, the king had tried to give him the best he could without dropping the Mad King act – keeping him where he was close and safe, giving him light work, treating him as a friend when he could. Was he totally blind? The king really didn’t want to have to kill someone to defend Gavin’s honour, but at this point it was looking like that was necessary to get his attention.

Because, although he was certainly cut out for the royal lifestyle that King Ryan liked to indulge in, he was still a bit of an idiot.

The king groaned frustratedly, and rolled over to face the ceiling. Preferably, he wouldn’t have to deal with either of them for a while, but Mogar would flit between the two of them to satisfy himself.

Mogar liked having control during foreplay, but giving it all up to the king once they got down to it – would Gavin be like that? Or would Gavin be soft and sweet, demure like he’d shown he could be? Would he let Mogar let out all his rage into their sex life, or would Gavin take total control of them?

The king silently seethed at where his thoughts had gone, trying to will his arousal away and slow his breathing down to something vaguely normal. He shouldn’t have let himself get distracted.

Maybe northern Africa would be enough to distract him from Gavin. Somewhere, deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be, but it was worth a shot.


	7. alea iacta est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin is given the seat of honour. His townspeople don't approve.
> 
> _alea iacta est – the die has been cast_

Gavin settled into the soft warmth of the palatial bedchamber, fluffing a nest of furs and pillows around him like a cold bird, and furrowed his brow when Mogar kissed him softly and stood to leave.

“It’s okay, Gavin. I just need to go and check the guard. I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t do anything stupid again.” Gavin raised an eyebrow meaningfully, and Mogar flushed indignantly.

“I am going to smother you in your sleep with those furs,” he declared, and walked out of the room to Gavin giggling behind him.

At the foot of the climb to the battlements, Trevor and Geoff saluted, torches burning bright. Mogar returned the gesture, and watched them march upwards.

Bearskin boots padding gently on the stone floors, Mogar took a detour past his own room and knocked on the door to the king’s chambers. The king sat at the table, rolling up a battered scroll, and smiled warmly when Mogar entered.

“So, how is he?” The king sat forward, eyes glinting with interest.

Mogar flopped onto the king’s bed with a happy sound, then sat upright and leaned in close to him. “Fucking wonderful, oh my god. The _noises_ he makes, Ryan, you have no idea.”

“Sounds like you had fun, then. What did you do to him? Hopefully you didn’t break him too much for his first go with you.”

“Sucked his dick,” he replied offhandedly, and the king raised an eyebrow. “It’s a really nice dick, too.” Mogar made a few suggestive gestures with his hands and the king whistled, eyes wide and impressed.

“Did you two do anything else? To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if you coerced him into more than that.”

“Nah, I’ll let him go as slow as he wants to go. If he doesn’t wanna fuck me yet, that’s okay.” Mogar shrugged, and the king nodded.

“Y’know, Michael, I think that’s the most considerate thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Mogar rolled his eyes and slapped him lightly. The king looked mock-hurt before dissolving into laughter.

“Although I _do_ want him to bend me over on our bed and have his way with me there, seeing as he hasn’t spent any time with me in there. And I’m pretty sure he has some kind of power kink, but I don’t want to jump in too quickly and break him. He seems like he’s so…soft.”

The king smiled a small smile, as if thinking about something, then frowned in thought as Mogar stood to leave, stretching. “Wait, if you didn’t blow him in your chambers then…” The question didn’t need to be asked.

Mogar laughed as he crossed the room and called over his shoulder, “I sucked his dick on your throne, Ryan!”

“You did _what_?! Michael, you animal!”

Mogar half-ran down the hallway, and managed to confine himself to small hiccuping bursts of laughter by the time he reached the door that opened into his and Gavin’s room, still grinning as he stripped off his clothes from the day and slid under the mound of furs and linen that covered Gavin.

Gavin made a noise and mumbled something that sounded like “letting all the cold air in” and rolled over, burrowing his face into the smoothness of Mogar’s chest and pressing soft kisses to the pale skin.

Mogar fell asleep with a hand resting in the middle of Gavin’s back.

* * *

Someone was shaking Gavin’s shoulders.

“Rise and shine! Who’s the god of sleep again? Because I’m pretty sure you’re his embodiment!”

Gavin groaned and burrowed further into the soft pile on the bed. Strong arms yanked the furs away from his face and he was met with the bright sunlight and a grinning Mogar.

“Whassarush?”

“I have no idea what you just said, but we’ve got a busy day! The king’s going into the town again and we need to be there! Now get up!”

Gavin’s still-sleeping mind didn’t fully process this until he’d taken a long sip of the steaming chalice of warm honeyed wine.

“It’s Somnus,” he announced to Mogar’s confusion.

“What’s Somnus?”

“Not what, who. The god of sleep. Like you said. And also, what do you mean, we’re going into town?”

Gavin could practically see Mogar’s mind racing.

“We’re going into town as the king’s entourage. The fights are on today, you’ve missed enough of them so far as it is. And didn’t someone say all you need in life is bread and circuses?”

Gavin rolled his eyes as he picked at the seeds of a pomegranate. “ _Panem et circenses_ , Michael. And I don’t particularly want to go back. They’re going to see me as a traitor to the Empire.”

Mogar sighed and moved to place a reassuring arm around Gavin. “You’ll have me there. And Geoff, and Matt, and Trevor. Remember, we took down their army once before. Shouldn’t be too hard to do it a second time, hmm?”

Gavin hesitated, then nodded. “But don’t leave my side.”

“Of course I won’t.”

* * *

“I hope you know I still don’t want to do this.”

“Really? It’s not like it’s not the twelfth time you’ve said that.”

“What, and you’ve been counting?”

Geoff sighed. “Come on, you lovebirds, get a move on.”

Gavin took a deep breath and held his head high, refusing to let his vision sway from the back of the king’s head as they walked through the streets. Mogar’s arm brushed his occasionally and he focused on the brief contact and the sound of his boots on the cobbled road, so very different to the noise of his old Roman sandals.

Something hit his cheek, but Gavin didn’t flinch at the impact. He grimaced as he wiped the saliva off his face, but kept gazing at the dirty blonde of the king’s hair.

They turned, and turned again, and turned up a flight of stairs, and then Gavin was in the purple luxury of the coliseum’s royal box.

The king took one of the regal stone chairs and patted the seat next to him. “Gavin, sit.”

Gavin looked at Mogar in mild alarm, but Mogar gently pushed him forward. “Go on.”

He tentatively sat beside the king, who flashed him a warm smile. Mogar sat at his feet and batted Gavin’s hand away when he ruffled the fur on his head.

Gavin shifted slightly, and sat up straighter. This whole entourage thing certainly had its perks - the view of the arena was much better than any of the cheaper seats he would have normally sat in.

Now he knew why the nobles called for the games so often. Gavin felt so powerful sitting high above the crowds.

The short fights were even more spectacular from this vantage point, and the tense eye contact from the spectators as the king pondered his decision was almost welcome. This was why he’d acted – the attention had him riding on a high, head dazed with what could only be called megalomania.

* * *

The fights were always a good show – and the Roman coliseums were a much better setting than the ramshackle rings built by his own tribe.

They were possibly made even more exciting by the warm presence of Gavin beside him. Sneaking glances sideways as the survivors were led off, the king watched Gavin in fascination. Gavin held himself in the same majestic manner as both the king beside him and the emperor did, watching intently with an interested smirk on his face.

A particularly brutal bout had the king grinning slightly as the fighters looked to him for his verdict. Gavin laughed lowly and leaned in close, breath warm against his neck, and in almost a purr, “Kill him. Go on, Rye.”

The king swallowed, and turned his thumb downwards to the roar of the crowd.

Closing the gap between his head and Gavin’s, the king leaned closer and asked quietly, “Why don’t you decide the next round?”

The glint in Gavin’s eye was the only confirmation he needed. “Oh, yes. It would be my pleasure, my liege.”

* * *

Gavin watched, intrigued at the motions of the fighters below him. It was almost a vicious dance, sunlight glinting off blades and sweat to the beat of the crowd of ravenous spectators, hungry for bloodshed.

The dance only ended when a particularly hard blow sent one of them sprawling into the sand. The standing man looked between his fallen opponent and the king.

Exchanging glances, Gavin and the king smiled at each other as Gavin held his arm out, tensing to make the move that would end the man’s life.

But the crowd wasn’t silent this time.

Mutters echoed around the arena, building until a high cry cut through the buzz.

“Who let him up there?”

Gavin stood abruptly, trying to see who had spoken.

Another voice joined in. “He’s becoming one of them! A heartless monster! You’re better than them, Gavin!”

Gavin frowned. “And what do you know about them?”

“Enough to tell that you’ve made the wrong decision!” 

The shouts were coming from all sides of the arena now.

“They’re sick and twisted, Gavin!”

“How can you defend them?”

“What have they done to you?”

“Silence!” Gavin yelled, his voice clear and loud and full of more emotion than the king had ever heard. Mogar tentatively touched his shoulder, but Gavin gently moved his hand away.

“How can you say such things about these people? They’ve opened my eyes to a whole new way of life, one that I could never have had, and it’s a bloody exciting one! They’ve given me something that I couldn’t ever have experienced here, something none of you would ever have gotten and now none of you ever will. They’ve given me a taste of power.” Gavin stopped, breathing heavily.

“And I have to say, I like it a lot.”

Gavin grinned at the king over his shoulder. The king flushed, and by the time he managed a smile, Gavin had turned back, pressing his lips to Mogar’s to a roar of outrage.

When Gavin returned to his seat, the hiss of dissent still thin in the air, he stuck his thumb out and jabbed it downwards.

“Good choice,” the king murmured beside him.

“Thank you, my liege.”


	8. de omnibus dubitandum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's thoughts are starting to get the better of him. So are the king's.
> 
> _de omnibus dubitandum – everything should be questioned_

Gavin felt slightly sick, and a little bit wrong.

Something wasn’t right when he looked at Mogar – yes, he’d come to the conclusion that he loved the aggressive bear-man, and that was perfectly fine. But whenever they shared a glance or sat tangled in each other’s company, Gavin thought there was something missing.

Something, or someone.

He knew that the king and Mogar had been an item – still were, if the nights he went to sleep beside Mogar and woke up alone were any indication. And the king looked like he was okay with Gavin sweeping Mogar out from underneath him.

And Mogar seemed to be doing just fine, if his cat-with-the-cream expression nowadays was any indication.

They all seemed to be comfortable with the way things were, adapting easily to Gavin’s presence, but to Gavin something didn’t sit quite right. He felt a little guilty, coming into their lives and forcing himself into what was obviously something that was the product of many years and a lot of hard work.

But they were both okay with it, and they had a word for what Mogar did, a word that felt alien on his tongue but almost right in his mind. The idea of sharing himself between two people rather than focusing on just the one was totally foreign, but also one that felt like it would fit. He’d have to try it on for size, but he couldn’t think of who would let him in and still love him if he had to divide his time.

His mind flicked to dirty blond hair and a well-defined face, and he swallowed, pushing any arousal out of his mind. He knew that there’d be no shame in that – for crying out loud, the man had even _offered_ , and it wasn’t an offer he’d turn down under any normal circumstances – but these weren’t normal circumstances, and the thought of it scared him a little. What if he wasn’t good enough for both of them?

And then there was the backlash he’d get if he ever left. Gavin Free, the actor, the slut of the barbarians, willing to bend over for anyone with a sharp enough sword and a vendetta against Rome. A traitor to the Empire. A nauseous weight settled in the pit of his stomach and he rolled over on the bed, curled up, still fully clothed.

He didn’t notice the time passing until he felt a weight settle on the bed next to him and a gentle but firm hand begin to work at the brooch at his shoulder. He made a grumbling noise of protest, and Mogar pulled his hand back almost guiltily.

“Shit, I’m so sorry Gavin, I thought you were asleep and I figured you couldn’t be comfortable like that. Are you alright?”

Gavin waved a hand drowsily to let him know everything was okay, as far as Mogar needed to know. The ache in his head had settled quite nicely just behind his eyes, dull and throbbing.

Mogar looked doubtful. “Are you sure? You’ve been looking kind of peaky since we got back from the fights. Maybe some sleep is what you need. No, don’t make that kind of face at me,” he admonished as Gavin looked at him with a withering gaze. “You need to get out of all this and into bed where you can sleep off whatever’s bugging you.”

“You,” Gavin began decisively, “just want me out of my pants.”

Mogar grinned wickedly. “Oh, Gavvy, I always want you out of your pants, you know that. But seriously,” he continued, poking Gavin lightly in the chest, “if you are going to pass out on top of me, then we can just go to sleep. I really don’t mind.”

“I mean, since you’re offering,” Gavin said teasingly, and sunk, boneless, back into the mattress as Mogar slid down and settled comfortably in between his thighs.

He tried to convince himself that he didn’t think of the king when he came.

* * *

The king paced around his chamber, restless. Geoff watched with mild amusement from where he leaned on the wall.

“It’s not fair!”

Geoff raised an eyebrow. “What’s not fair?”

“He’s got to know he’s doing that! That’s not something that someone does subconsciously!”

“What’s he doing, sir?”

The king stopped and whirled around to face him. “Driving me absolutely fucking crazy, Geoff! No person should look that good! He looked fucking fantastic as a slave and he looked damn gorgeous sitting there right next to me at the fights! No one should look that good both on their knees in front of me and lording it over everyone!”

“You’ve been thinking about him on his knees?”

“What– Geoff, no! Shut up!”

“Sorry, sir.”

The king sighed and flopped face-first onto his bed, crown falling off and bouncing slightly on the mattress. “It’s terrible, Geoff,” he lamented in a muffled voice.

“Do you want me to pat you on the back and say ‘there, there’?”

“No, Geoff.”

“Alright, sir. Just asking.”

The king rolled over and made an exasperated noise at the ceiling. “Power shouldn’t look that good on anyone, Geoff. It’s not fair.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me saying, you sound like a lovesick teenager.”

The king propped himself up on one elbow and raised a disapproving eyebrow at Geoff. “Geoff, I’m going to plan a hunt tomorrow, and you’re going to be the game.”

“A hunt’s a good idea, sir. Me being hunted is not, in my opinion, but do you still want me to make the arrangements?”

“Fine. You’ll find a bow and arrow for Gavin as well, won’t you? Is that a bad idea? Can he even shoot?”

“I’m sure he could learn. It shouldn’t be too catastrophic, sir. Might even be a learning experience.”

“Alright. Fine. Good. Now go away and let me wallow in my misery.”

“As you wish, sir. I’ll inform Matt and Trevor of tomorrow’s plans.”

The king wrapped himself in a soft blanket and sulked as Geoff closed the door behind him.

He wondered what Gavin was doing.

A room or two away, Gavin’s hips gave a final thrust into Mogar’s mouth as he panted to regain his breath with a lazy smile on his face. He whined at the last careful touches of Mogar’s lips to his cock and ruffled the ginger curls as he crawled back up the bed to rest beside him.

Gavin flopped his arms over Mogar and fell asleep to the buzz of his thoughts.

The king stared up at the ceiling.

Maybe Gavin was happy with Mogar. Maybe he didn’t need anything more.

Gavin certainly looked happy. Maybe he’d ruin the new and delicate thing they had if he tried to jump in.

_Snap out of it, Ryan_ , he told himself. _You’re overthinking this._

_But what if I’m not?_ Worry sat low in his gut as he lay awake, listening to the sound of his own breathing and his pulse in his ears.

The sky was a murky blue, moon gone and sun not yet up, when he rewrapped the blanket around his shoulders and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

A hunt today. That’d take his mind off things.


	9. sic vita est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mogar tries to offer a push in the right direction.
> 
> _sic vita est – thus is life_

“So, Gavin, ever been on a hunt before?”

Gavin frowned. “Not one that wasn’t staged.”

Mogar chuckled. “I expect you’ll need us to give you a hand, then.”

They approached Trevor, leading out two horses. Mogar smirked.

“Can you–” he began to say, but stopped, mouth open, as Gavin took a couple of quick, light steps and swung up into the soft leather of the saddle.

“I _have_ ridden a horse before, Mogar. Are you sure you aren’t the one who needs a hand?” Gavin laughed as Mogar awkwardly climbed up, shuffling around until he was comfortable.

“Shut up. I’m going to push you off your horse when I get a chance.”

“No, you won’t. You love me.”

Trevor released the reins, and Gavin eased his horse into a trot, one hand sitting loosely at the pommel, the other keeping a firm grip on the reins as he moved with the horse’s fluid gait. Mogar fumbled the reins and followed.

The king waited with Geoff at his horse’s side, a quiver of arrows already hanging across his back and a bow resting across his knees. He smiled when he saw the approaching figures of Gavin and Mogar.

“He’s too good at this, Ryan,” Mogar grumbled, and Gavin laughed, slinging the quiver Geoff handed him over his shoulders and taking the bow, switching the reins from one hand to the other.

“Finally, someone might be better than Mogar at the hunt. Thank the stars!” the king mock-rejoiced, and Mogar walked his horse over to give the king a slap on the arm.

They set out, the hooves of their horses making arrhythmic beats on the road that slowly turned to dirt as they entered the woods. The trees cast patterns of dappled sunlight on the ground and the light wind rustled everything around them. No one spoke for fear of disturbing the tranquility.

That is, until an arrow shot upwards and Gavin trotted forwards.

“Gavin, what on earth are you doing?” Mogar sighed, and a mottled-brown snipe fell through the trees into Gavin’s arms, an arrow through its body.

“Hunting,” Gavin replied cheerfully.

Mogar gaped.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” the king asked, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Absolutely certain.” Gavin mirrored the king’s grin and nudged his horse into a faster gait. The king followed suit.

Mogar sighed and started into a canter to catch up. “Stupid talented boyfriend. And stupid boyfriend who encourages stupid talented boyfriend.”

They continued as a group. They moved fairly quietly, interrupted by the occasional twang of their arrows being loosed from the bow and striking a bird or a rabbit. The trees thickened around their path, and green clearings gave way to patches of warm bright sunlight over long grass, the gentle rustling of their surroundings a soft undertone to their amiable conversation.

The sun was sinking in the sky, bathing everything in an orange glow, when suddenly Gavin spurred his horse forward, the king reacting almost instantly and following Gavin’s galloping path.

A yell from Gavin, and a triumphant shout from the king, and the cry of an agonised beast. Mogar thudded after them and reared to a stop behind Gavin easily dismounting beside the king, a deer fallen with two arrows precisely through its heart and its neck.

“Good shot, Gavin!” Gavin flushed and beamed as the king hugged him tightly, fingers pressing into Gavin’s soft hair as he praised the Roman.

Mogar snickered and they jumped apart. The king coughed to cover the awkwardness, and Gavin became very interested in a scuff on his boot.

“Mogar, could you help me?” the king asked, still avoiding eye contact.

Mogar laughed, and both the king and Gavin visibly relaxed, moving to hold the deer’s legs as Mogar deftly tied a few tight knots and hoisted it over his shoulder.

“Come on, you two. It’s almost sunset, and if we don’t get back soon then we’ll be eating this at midnight,” Mogar grunted as he clambered onto his horse, resting the deer over the horse’s shoulder.

They glanced at each other again. Gavin was the first to break, averting his gaze quickly with a small smile as he swung lightly up into the saddle again.

Mogar kept a fast pace, and the sun was almost gone over the hills when they arrived back to Geoff waiting with a torch. Geoff whistled appreciatively at their spoils, and Trevor thumped Gavin on the back heartily.

“Knew that archery would come in handy!” he said smugly, and the king and Mogar raised an eyebrow together.

“And how good was he when you left off his covert training?” the king asked amusedly.

Trevor shrugged, the guilt written all over his face. “So-so. He missed more than he hit.”

“So he’s been practising somehow. Don’t know when he would have. But I have to say, he’s definitely got an eye for it,” Mogar commented approvingly.

The king looked deep in thought, nodding absently at Mogar’s words.

Mogar hefted the deer back over his shoulder and started back in to the warmth of the villa’s fires.

As he walked down to the heat of the kitchens, he couldn’t help but think back to the interaction between the king and Gavin in the forest. Mogar rolled his eyes. Oblivious idiots. They’d made it blatantly obvious they wanted something more between them than their current friendship. And he couldn’t tolerate any more of their awful flirting.

Mogar decided that operation get-Ryan-and-Gavin-together was, as of that moment, in action, for his own sanity and for theirs. He’d think of a better name for it later, and make a few more plans, but for now there was game to roast and a celebratory feast to eat.

* * *

Mogar smiled at the reclining figures of Gavin and the king. Gavin had insisted they eat like Romans that night, and as he sipped at his chalice, Mogar decided that maybe the Romans sometimes did have good ideas. The sheer quantity of food was definitely a good idea.

Gavin seemed a little cautious around the king, all light touches and hesitant glances. The king flushed and flubbed his words to Gavin’s awkward giggles.

“–I’m just saying, if you flip a coin three times–”

“Your logic is utter bullshit and you know it!”

And, Mogar noted drily, they bickered like an old married couple. It was almost sickening.

“Gavin, you know that we didn’t have coins before we came to Rome, right?” Mogar interrupted.

Gavin huffed. “Fine. If you flip, I don’t know, a medallion–”

As the king and Gavin fell back to their argument, Mogar took another piece of roasted deer and chewed it thoughtfully. They were both so painfully clueless about each other, it was beginning to annoy him. Something had to be done. Preferably soon.

He beckoned Geoff over.

“Geoff, these brainless idiots are never going to figure their shit out. What do we do?”

Geoff grinned devilishly, and poured Mogar another chalice of wine. “I think I can help. I’ll see if I can’t get the household onto it.”

Mogar grinned back. “Excellent.”

He watched Geoff retreat back to the sides of the room, and whisper to Trevor. Trevor looked around the room and nodded.

Mogar smiled behind his cup as the king rolled his eyes at Gavin. Glad to know the more-than capable staff would have to deal with their bullshit, and not him anymore.


	10. ubi fumus, ibi ignis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin finds common ground with the king.
> 
>  
> 
> _ubi fumus, ibi ignis – where there's smoke, there's fire_

Gavin was, to say the least, confused.

Mogar would leave early in the morning in a flurry of furs, leaving Gavin to eat with the king. Not that it was a bad thing, spending the time in the king’s company, but there was only so much small talk they could make before Gavin got flustered and the king would trip over his words.

And at night, Gavin would watch Mogar’s lithe figure stretch and undress, sighing as he released the tension from his muscles. It was a sight that Gavin could watch over and over, and the rush of warm blood downwards agreed with him.

Somehow, for reasons unknown to Gavin, Mogar didn’t.

He’d press a gentle kiss to Gavin’s cheekbone and murmur a soft goodnight before rolling over, leaving Gavin with a disgruntled mind and a still very interested dick.

As he lay in bed listening to the soft breathing of Mogar and willing his thoughts in a different direction, he wondered what he’d done to deserve this treatment. What had he done to piss Mogar off in such a way that warranted this kind of punishment? Had Mogar taken an oath of celibacy and forgotten to tell him?

His hard-on was getting too uncomfortable for him to sleep with, pressing into his stomach as he rolled over. Sighing, Gavin stood and wrapped a robe around himself, tensing as the door creaked open, but Mogar only made a snuffly noise in his sleep and rolled over.

Slipping out and taking the torch from its bracket, Gavin padded down the hallways until he reached the baths.

He’d always known the delegate had private baths, but never believed them to be this ornate. Steadying the torch in the wall, Gavin silently marvelled at the intricate mosaic covering the walls and floor as he slid his robe off his shoulders.

The warmth of the bath in the caldarium enveloped him like a glove as he sank into it, letting out a small noise of pleasure. The cold night air had discouraged his dick a little, but the heat of the bath and the gentle pressure of his hand under the water brought him back to full hardness very quickly.

The motions of his hand felt very languid and lazy underwater. He sank a little further under and exhaled sharply as he felt the warm water move further up his chest. The temperature change from the cool of the night to the hot of the bath wreaked havoc on the sensitive skin of his nipples, and Gavin slid a hand up through the water to pinch and rub at the hardening buds.

Gavin maintained a steady pace for a while, a long upstroke with a twist of his hand and a flick of his thumb over the head before sliding back down with a pull on the foreskin. He tugged a little sharper and gasped at the difference between his languorous, teasing strokes from before.

His focus dramatically shifted from taking his time and enjoying himself to getting himself off as quickly as possible, Gavin sped up his hand under the water, his moans reverberating around the tiled walls of the caldarium. His other hand drifted down from his oversensitive chest to play at his hole, pressing lightly but never penetrating.

The added stimulation was all it took for Gavin to let out one final, breathy cry and come, toes curling and back arching in the hot water. His shuddering breaths as he rode out the aftershocks echoed in the empty room, and he slumped further into the water, content.

He stayed neck-deep in the warmth for a while longer until his fingers started to wrinkle. Sighing, he pulled himself out of the bath and rewrapped himself in the softness of his robe.

The torchlight danced over the quiet walls as he made his way silently back to his and Mogar’s room. As he approached their door, a series of soft noises from the king’s chambers made him hesitate, hand pausing above the smooth wood.

Gavin wasn’t sure what compelled him to investigate, but all of a sudden he was pushing open the heavy door and staring silently at the sight before him.

The king seemed lost in the movement of his right hand before something pulled his attention to Gavin in the doorway.

“Good lord, Gavin, what are you doing?” The king scrambled to retain some of his dignity.

Gavin flushed crimson, unable to avert his eyes. “I take it you couldn’t sleep either?”

“Of course not, what with the two of you going at it like that in the next room!”

Gavin cocked his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Michael never makes that much noise on his own!”

Gavin frowned. “Bloody bastard rolled over and went to sleep and left me with a stiffy!”

The king frowned back. “So…you weren’t–”

“No, I had to go and get myself off in the baths!”

The king wrinkled his nose. “That’s a little gross, but right now I entirely understand your thinking.”

“What does he expect from me? He’s been teasing me all bloody week and I have needs, dammit!”

“Not just you, Gavin, I’m in the same boat. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but it’s really damn annoying.”

Gavin made a noise of agreement, and they stood awkwardly at opposite ends of the room, the silence hanging heavy in the night.

“So, do you–? I mean, would you like a hand, or–?”

The king shook his head hurriedly as Gavin stuttered. “No! No, no, it’s okay, I can deal with it myself.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll, ah, leave you to it.” Gavin backed out of the room slowly.

“We’ll try and figure out what Mogar’s up to later.” The king watched Gavin leave, and both men breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed between them.

Gavin snuck back into his room and, cold and a little annoyed, fell asleep facing the wall.

* * *

Mogar tried to leave early in the morning when the sky was still dark, but a warm hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mogar stammered over an excuse, and Gavin huffed and rolled over to face him.

“As I thought. Now, come back here. You’ve still got a few hours until sunrise, and the sleep’ll do you good.”

Mogar groaned. “Fine.”

He crawled back in next to Gavin, and thin arms wrapped around his torso. Gavin’s chest was pulled flush to Mogar’s back and gradually he felt Gavin’s breathing settle back to the slow relaxed breathing of sleep.

He tried to pry Gavin’s arm off, but the grip tightened slightly and Gavin made a noise in his semi-sleep.

Sighing, Mogar settled back into Gavin, and was just drifting off when Gavin began to stir and wake up in the early morning light.

“Oh, come on, you were so willing to wake up before!” Gavin laughed.

Mogar burrowed further under the blankets and squeaked when he was lifted off the bed, blankets and all, and dropped carefully but unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Come on. Or else I’m going to convince the king to help me eat everything.”

Mogar scoffed. “Like that’s going to happen. You’re a tiny fucking twig and there’s no way he’s going to eat that much–”

He sighed at the hollow _thud_ of the door closing, and began to disentangle himself from the pile on the floor.

The king and Gavin were waiting for Mogar when he entered the hall, and Mogar began to feel slightly unnerved.

“Alright, Michael, we all need to talk–” the king began.

“Because you haven’t been,” Gavin added.

“–and personally, I don’t know what I’ve done to make you cut me off outside of professionalism.”

“And you’re spending barely any time with me, and, well, if–”

“I,” Mogar announced, “have no idea what either of you are talking about.”

“Bull _shit_ you do. You make a point to leave before sunrise every morning and you’re on guard every night. It’s like you don’t want to be around me anymore–”

“–and I’m getting concerned you’re planning a coup–”

“–you could just tell me if–”

“For fuck’s sake, please stop talking over each other! I have no idea what you’re accusing me of if you both just keep yelling at me!”

The king looked stunned, and Gavin looked almost hurt.

“Michael, if you’d just listen–”

“As far as I know, nothing between any of us has changed. You,” he declared, pointing at the king, “are being paranoid, and you, Gav, are getting worried over nothing. I think you both need to calm down, because there is no problem, and if you keep this up, there will be!”

“Alright then,” Gavin said quietly, and Mogar closed the conversation with the sound of the door closing.

* * *

As Mogar angrily left the room, Gavin dragged his hands down his face. “So that was a bloody waste of time. Bastard.”

The king flopped back into his throne, crown thunking against the high back and falling forward over his eyes. “For all I know, he _is_ trying to kill us. Or kill me, at least. I haven’t had a half-decent orgasm in weeks.”

“Now, really, you’re exaggerating there,” Gavin chided, but his mind slipped away and conjured up images of the king – _no_ , now was not the time. “At least you don’t sleep next to him.”

The king appeared to ponder Gavin’s words. “You have a point.”

They sat in contemplative quiet for a while. The silence was broken by a drawn-out sign from Gavin.

“Well, I guess it’s just me and my right hand in the baths again tonight.”

The king’s forehead creased in mild disgust. “I did not need to know that, Gavin, but thank you for sharing.”

Gavin snickered. “You’re welcome.”

There was a pause, and the king tentatively said, “I could, uh. help you? I-if you’d like? I mean,” and he hastily tried to recover himself as Gavin went bright red, “God knows we both need a bit of release. I-it wouldn’t have to be any more than that if you don’t want. But, uh, whatever you’d like.”

Gavin raised an eyebrow, ears pink. “Are you propositioning me, Ryan?”

“What– no! I would never poprosition– proposition–”

Gavin laughed awkwardly as the king frantically tried to fix his flub. “I’m kidding, Rye. It’s…an unusual offer.”

“No shit. It’s okay, I get it. You don’t have to. We can just keep…doing what we’re doing then.”

Gavin shifted in his seat. “I was about to say it was an unusual offer I was willing to take you up on.”

The king’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Gavin twisted his hands around together in his lap. “I mean, we’re both in the same boat, thanks to Michael, and it’s not like you’re a bad-looking bloke.”

“Thanks?” The king was thoroughly confused by now.

“So, uh, I wouldn’t exactly object to havin’ a go in the sack with you, if you get what I mean?” Gavin somehow went more crimson and became extremely fixated on a corner of the room.

“Having a what now?”

Gavin rolled his eyes and turned back to face the king. “Gods, you’re thick, aren’t you? Yes, I’ll take you up on your offer to shag and get rid of the tension Michael’s left us with.”

The king sighed in relief. “Okay. Alright. Thanks. Tonight?”

Gavin blinked. “Sure.” Another lengthy pause, and he abruptly stood and made an about-face for the door. “I'll see you then.”

As the soft pad of Gavin’s boots died away, the king sat and composed himself in his throne.

_Well, shit_ , he thought. There was no way he was ever going to fix his Gavin-shaped problem after whatever went down tonight.


	11. vademecum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a solution to their problem.
> 
> _vademecum – go with me_

Gavin settled under the blankets beside Mogar, still giving him a bit of space, and waited.

The king watched Trevor exit the room with a bow and waited.

When nothing could be heard but his own breathing, the king took the torch out of its bracket and slipped out into the dark halls.

When he heard the quiet crescendo and diminuendo of footsteps move warily outside, Gavin carefully pulled himself out of the tangle of blankets and wrapped a dark fur around himself, closing the door carefully behind him.

Torches and the bright moonlight made the tiles in the tepidarium glisten as Gavin walked. A flicker of light ahead of him in the caldarium made him hesitate. Was he really about to go through with this?

The king heard the footsteps stop and held his breath, not wanting to face the arched doorway. This was a stupid idea, he knew it, and Gavin was going to rethink everything and go back to sleep.

A few more tentative steps, and Gavin stood in the entrance to the caldarium. He cleared his throat softly and the king jumped around to face him.

Gavin smiled falteringly. “What, didn’t you think I’d be here?”

“A little. But you’re here now.”

Gavin pinked up a little – or was that just the heat? – and stepped further into the room.

“So, ah, shall we?” He fidgeted with the edge of the fur wrapped around his lithe torso, and the king’s gaze was drawn to the movement of his thin fingers.

“I– we– yes. Yes, we should.” _Was that too confident?_

But that confidence seemed to be what Gavin needed as he let the fur drop from his shoulders to rest at his hips and then fall to the floor. The king’s eyes raked over the slim line of Gavin’s hips, widening slightly as he followed the long V shape downwards.

“You are absolutely gorgeous,” he breathed.

Gavin flushed deeper, the red creeping into the mess of hair on his chest.

“Your turn.” Gavin stepped lightly into the bath and turned to watch the king, an eyebrow raised and elbows propped on the tiled edge.

The king exhaled slowly, and moved to take off his crown, but Gavin shook his head vigorously. “Keep it on.”

“Alright.”

He flicked apart the fasteners on his tunic one by one, casually but carefully. A slight ripple and splash of the water, and Gavin was sitting more alertly, gaze darting over the king’s torso.

The fabric fell to the ground softly, and the king began work on the ties of his kilt, Gavin tracing the movement of his fingers with his eyes. Another heavier swish of the thicker tartan fabric and the king stood before Gavin, completely exposed and avoiding eye contact.

Gavin let out a shuddery almost-whine, and reached forwards. “I want you so much right now, come here.”

The king hesitated, and Gavin huffed, stretching further out of the water to hold a wet hand out to him. “Your majesty, it’s rude to keep your consort waiting.”

Raising an eyebrow, the king took Gavin’s hand and waded into the bath, the water rising to just under his shoulders. It sloshed between them as he pulled Gavin closer, their chests flush and awash with water. The king could feel Gavin’s pulse as he leaned in close, nipping along Gavin’s neck.

“Consort, hmm?” he murmured lowly, and Gavin twisted his hands into the king’s hair around the crown, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Gavin went pliant under the king’s grip despite taking the first actions, and opened his mouth to let the king’s tongue in enthusiastically. His arms sat loosely around the king’s neck, and the king skimmed his hands down Gavin’s thin torso to tweak at the water-softened skin of his chest.

Mogar had said that Gavin was domineering and powerful in these kinds of situations, but the way he melted in the king’s grip and whined in need when they parted to breathe went against everything Mogar had told him.

“Pretty little consort, making such gorgeous noises for your king. Be a little louder for me, won’t you, dear?” The king coupled his words with a series of nips and licks down Gavin’s neck, drawing gasps from him as the blood rushed under his skin and left pale red marks, moving back up and working back over them until they were harsh against his complexion.

“Ryan, please–”

“What did you call me?”

Gavin stared at him, panting with glazed eyes. A soft moan left him when he realised what the king wanted.

“I’m sorry, sire. My liege, please stop teasing me, I beg of you–”

Gavin’s words were cut off with a broken cry and sigh of relief as the king sank his teeth into the angles of his collarbone and wrapped a smooth, languid hand around Gavin’s dick.

“And I didn’t even have to ask you to beg,” the king hummed against the new bite, soothing the angry skin with his lips and moving his hand slowly through the water. Gavin shuddered and pressed closer. “So good of you. However, there is something,” the king punctuated the word with a twist of his wrist, “that someone told me about you that I’d like to see you do for me. Would that be alright?”

“O-of course, sire.” Gavin’s face was inches away from the water, harsh breath rippling its clear surface.

“I want you to fuck me,” the king murmured against the shell of Gavin’s ear.

Gavin lifted his head to meet the king’s eyes with confusion. “What? No, I– I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be proper, what with you being the king and all.”

Ignoring Gavin’s whine as he pulled back his hand, the king steadied Gavin and sighed. “Gavin, in case you didn’t notice, I couldn’t give less of a damn about what’s proper and what’s not.”

Gavin looked slightly troubled, but then a devious look came over his face. “Yes, but,” he purred, “I’d much rather you pin me down and fuck me ’til I can’t walk back to my room, sire.”

The king swallowed as he formed a mental image – Gavin, stretched out underneath him, with those gorgeous marks all down his neck, making the most beautiful noises. “That is possibly the best idea you’ve ever had, Gavin.”

“Glad I could assist, my lie– agh!” Gavin cut himself off with a squawk as the king scooped him up and placed him on the edge of the bath, gently pushing at his shoulders. Gavin took the hint and lay down, the heated mosaic tiles warm against his back.

A swish of water, and Gavin felt strong hands pressing into the soft skin of his thighs, exposing him to the king. He jolted in surprise as a tentative tongue pressed against his perineum and laved its way up to the sensitive spot behind his balls, before making its way back down and pushing cautiously at the rim of his hole.

“My liege, I hope you’ll forgive my impertinence, but could you please stop being such a fucking tease?” Gavin sounded wrecked and irritated, his voice thick as he shifted against the tiled floor.

Grinning against Gavin’s smooth skin, the king nipped at the skin above the tight pink ring of muscle and pressed his tongue in to a grateful sigh. Gavin’s skin was warm under his hands and face, and as he continued his work, the soft noises increased in number and volume.

Finally, he drew back to breathe, and watched in slight fascination as Gavin’s hole fluttered around nothing. The Roman's cock was reddened and nearly flat against his stomach, the head slick and glistening under the foreskin.

“Do you need my fingers?” the king asked tentatively.

“Just a couple, but hurry up,” Gavin said breathlessly.

The king brought his fingers up to Gavin’s mouth, relishing the feel of Gavin’s eager tongue around them. He drew them out slowly and watched the glistening string of saliva connect his hand to Gavin. Sliding the first into Gavin, he curled it slightly, but Gavin huffed impatiently.

“Another one?”

The king rolled his eyes and slid the second in, scissoring them and dragging out more noises from Gavin. A sharp gasp told the king that he’d found somewhere sensitive, and he pulled his fingers back over the spot, rubbing it until Gavin quivered.

“If you – hah – keep doing that, I’m going to come.”

The king chuckled and pulled his fingers out slowly. “Alright then. I’ll save that for another day.”

Gavin made a small noise at the thought of coming on the king’s hands alone.

The king pulled himself out of the water and up next to Gavin, moving the Roman back along the floor so he could sit between Gavin’s legs. He gave himself a few preparatory strokes, collecting the precome that had welled at his tip and smearing it down along his shaft before positioning himself at Gavin’s entrance.

“Are you ready?”

“Sire, I’ve been ready for the past damn– _Ryan_!” Gavin’s snide remark was cut off by the king pressing the head of his cock in.

“What did you call me?” The king’s voice deepened and Gavin shuddered.

“My liege, I’m sorry, please, give me more!” Gavin begged.

The king smirked and slid another inch in, leaning up and pressing his lips to Gavin’s warm skin. “Keep talking like that, and I will,” he murmured against the skin. “Go on.”

Gavin was warm and tight around him as the achingly slow slide between them continued.

“Gods, I’ve wanted you for such a long time, my liege. Fantasised about your cock in me since I saw you and Michael. Don’t tell him, but I think about you in bed, with both Mogar and I or just with me, fucking me rough and hard and fast, and I know it sounds terrible for me to think of but it’s hot as hell, and I swear to Jupiter, Ryan, if you don’t bloody move I will flip you over here and ride you until I come!” Gavin’s voice echoed off the walls and they both tensed slightly, listening in case they disturbed anyone else.

Still wary, the king whispered against Gavin, “That doesn’t sound so bad, now, does it?”

Gavin made a low noise and, bracing his hands against the king’s shoulders, rolled them over easily. The gold crown clattered to the floor and drowned out Gavin’s sigh of relief as he sank down, moving his hips in a hypnotic sort of twist that had the king’s fingernails biting sharp crescents into the Roman’s tanned skin.

His motions were mesmerising to the king, the bounce of Gavin’s cock as he moved and the slick glide of his own dick in and out of Gavin’s open hole more captivating than anything he’d ever seen. His gaze flickered upwards and stuck there at Gavin’s expression – an enchanting red blossoming over his cheeks and chest as he panted and moaned, a broken cry coming from lips swollen from biting as he angled himself downwards, hitting his prostate over and over.

“You look,” the king said between heavy breaths, “absolutely ravishing, my dear.”

“Thank you, sire– bloody fucking _hell_ , Ryan!” Gavin cut himself off with swears as the king moved a hand from its bruising grip on his hip to wrap lazily around his cock. The slide was not as smooth as he’d have liked, but the way Gavin cursed himself blue told him that it was enough.

“My liege, I’m going to–! Fuck, Ryan!” Gavin cried as he sank down deep one more time and clenched impossibly tightly around the king, painting their chests and stomachs white with a few more twists of the king’s hand.

“Say it again,” the king growled, pulling out roughly to pin Gavin underneath him and thrust back into him viciously.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Gavin chanted, wincing and eyes prickling slightly at the overstimulation. The king pulled one of Gavin’s knees up, bending him nearly in half, and the new, deeper angle had Gavin’s dick twitching, trying and failing to get hard again.

A few more arrhythmic thrusts of the king’s hips, and he was coming, spilling deep inside the now nearly-sobbing Gavin.

“Fuck, Gavin,” the king sighed as he pulled out, come leaking out slowly after him and dripping from his tip. “You’re prettier than a picture, and twice as good a fuck as any whore. Oh, but look at you, you’re a mess,” he continued in a fondly disapproving tone, reaching down to press his fingers at Gavin’s abused hole where come trickled out.

Gavin hissed and moved his hips gingerly away from the king. “No, ow, no, nope, not now. You made me too sore for that. It would be nice, though, if you could carry me into the bath so that this can all get itself out.”

Withdrawing apologetically, the king slid back into the bath and scooped Gavin up, lowering him into the water and holding him so he was comfortable. 

“You know, I haven’t let Mogar do that to me yet.”

“What?” The king was genuinely surprised at the nonchalant statement.

“Yeah. For some reason or another, we haven’t fucked yet. Might be because he’s abandoned me for the past week, but I guess we just hadn’t ever gotten around to it.”

The king pondered this. “So am I your…”

Gavin scoffed. “Lord, no. I did have relationships before you took me, but don’t worry, there’s no broken-hearted guy moping around town now. People don’t like actors off-stage very much. It’s all about the gladiators, really.”

They fell into an amicable silence as the warm water soothed over bruises and love-bites. Eventually, Gavin began to shift in his arms and the king let him down so he could clamber out on his own.

The soft fur moved quickly over Gavin, drying him off enough to walk back without dripping over the floors. The king watched as the marks he’d left on Gavin’s hips and neck were covered by fur and the Roman made his way to the arch leading back through the colder baths, limping slightly.

“We should do that again sometime.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Gavin hesitated before he turned around.

“Yeah. Yeah, we should. How busy are you tomorrow night?"

The king smiled. “I’m never busy if it’s for you.”

Gavin smiled back, and padded out into the dark halls.

The king pulled himself out of the bath and set his crown back on his head. As he set about pulling his tunic back on, he could only replay that image of Gavin above him, again and again and again.

For a controlling king, he really did like when someone else took the reins, he mused as he took the torch off the wall and made his quiet way back to bed.


	12. semper fidelis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king tries to break down barriers that aren't there.
> 
> _semper fidelis – always faithful_

Gavin somehow managed to drag himself out of bed before Mogar that morning, dressing quickly and quietly and somehow managing to cover up the marks that sat high on his neck. His back ached and he winced as he walked through the halls to find something to do, so lost in his own head that he walked straight into Geoff.

“You’re up early,” Geoff remarked. “Avoiding Mogar?”

“Wha– Geoff, why on earth would I be doing that?” Gavin replied, confused.

“Well, you seem to have been keeping some kind of distance lately. I feel like I’m less likely to walk in on the two of you banging on every flat surface. Are you finally out of the honeymoon phase? Because if so, thank God.”

Gavin was about to argue back that no, things were perfectly fine between the two of them and it was none of his business who was banging where, when a deep voice from behind interrupted him.

“Geoff, are you harassing my consul again? He can’t afford to be wasting any time today, what with his new duties. Though I do love to see the two of you getting on so nicely, now is not really the time. Come with me, Gavin. Carry on, Geoff.”

The king swept an arm firmly around Gavin’s waist and walked him quickly forwards as Geoff continued on his bemused way.

“You really saved my ass back there. He was starting to get into the personal questions,” Gavin said gratefully.

“Any time.”

“But…you weren’t serious about the whole consul thing, were you? Was that just a cover-up, or…” Gavin trailed off and looked up at the king.

The king made a noise. “God, no. I just needed a fancy word to say that from now on you’ll be sitting next to me and looking pretty, without being as blatantly obvious as prince-regent. To be honest, I don’t even remember what a consul does.”

“Don’t you ever listen to me when I talk politics?” Gavin acted mock-hurt and the king laughed.

“Nope. I’m a dictator, remember? I make up my own politics. Now let’s see if we can’t get the kitchens to fire up a bit early today and put on breakfast for us.”

“Oh, lovely, lovely Ryan. I like you. Not everyone’ll sit a man down to breakfast after a good night.”

The king looked a little uncomfortable at Gavin’s mention of the previous night, and Gavin didn’t bring it up again over their breakfast, especially not when Mogar walked in, grouchy from having woken up alone, and draped himself over Gavin’s legs.

“Gavin, for the first time in a long time, I have orders for you. This evening you are going to finish up whatever shit you need to take care of, then you’re going to come in to our room and you’re going to fuck me senseless.”

Gavin spluttered. “Michael, is now really the time? Can’t you let a man finish his breakfast before you begin propositioning him?” He reached across the table for an apple and made alarmed eye contact with the king.

“Well, seeing as you ruined my plans for this morning when you woke up before me, it’s only fair that I ruin whatever breakfast date is going on here. You, me, bed, tonight. No questions asked, none answered.”

Gavin sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll cancel my visit to the theatre and reschedule my night out on the town with Geoff. You’re not exactly interrupting much in my life, you know that?”

Mogar grunted and rolled over, pressing his face into Gavin’s soft stomach and resting his arms on Gavin’s chest. “Good.”

“What you are doing, though, is interrupting breakfast,” the king said pointedly. “So if you’re going just to sit here and bitch about your sex life, by all means, feel free to join the club, but wait until we’re done. You’re making the olives taste worse than usual. Besides, you’re going to have to leave Gavin alone this afternoon. He’s agreed to take up some new duties for me–”

“What, like sucking your dick?” Mogar interrupted drily.

“He wishes,” Gavin scoffed, and the king went slightly pink.

“No, political duties. See if I can try and win back some favour by having Gavin as my political advisor.”

Mogar frowned. “That sounds like a load of horseshit. You killed everyone who knew what they were doing with politics, and we both know that Gavin doesn’t know shit about how we work.”

“Hey!” Gavin batted Mogar lightly on the head.

The king sat forward. “Yes, but he knows how the Romans work. It’ll show that I’m willing to work with them rather than just crush them all. Plus, Gavin’s an actor. He shouldn’t have to act too hard, but just in case we don’t look believable he can pull out the tragic hero or whatever he needs to.”

Gavin grinned, a big flashy stage grin. “Tragic hero might not be able to help you, but I’m sure I could figure something out.”

Mogar began to disentangle himself from Gavin. “Well, have fun with your politics, boys. See you tonight, Gav.” He winked, and Gavin swallowed thickly as Mogar walked out of the room with a swing in his hips.

As the door echoed shut, Gavin buried his face in his hands. “Fuck, Rye, I’m so sorry.”

The king shook his head. “Don’t be. For you, his needs should be a higher priority than mine. He is your boyfriend, after all.”

“But I feel bad,” Gavin protested. “You’ve at least got to let me make it up to you somehow.” He stepped lightly around the table between them and spread himself out along the king’s chaise, seemingly melting into his side.

Gavin’s body was warm and practically liquid against him as he purred, “After all, I only live to serve my king.” The king shivered at the words, and Gavin laughed low in his chest, the sound vibrating through their bodies.

“How would you like me, my liege? My hand on your cock until you come? Or my mouth? Or maybe you’d rather me eat you out, as thanks for the gorgeous tongue-fucking you gave me last night?” Gavin’s hand wandered downwards as he talked, palming over the king’s hardening dick through his kilt. “Perhaps I could ride you, as I know Mogar loves to do with you. Or I could lay you down and fuck you through this couch until you can’t think of anything but my name. What do you think?”

“Christ, Gavin, not now,” the king groaned. “What if someone finds us?”

“Oh, yes, what if someone finds us? We wouldn’t want Geoff or Trevor or _Mogar_ finding you in such a dishevelled state, would we?” The mention of Mogar’s name had the king stifling a noise. 

“So good of you, being so quiet,” Gavin hummed, pressing his hand down into the king’s crotch and relishing in drawing out the soft sound. “But you still haven’t told me what you want.”

“I– fucking– everything, Gavin, give me everything you can,” the king breathed.

Gavin chuckled, running a hand up the king’s thigh under his kilt, his other hand moving to undo the top few fastens of his tunic. “Not enough time for that, is there? Got to be quick so no one finds out,” he murmured close to the king’s ear, before simultaneously sliding his lips down the king’s throat and wrapping a hand around the king’s half-hard cock.

The king breathed deeply and wrapped an arm loosely around Gavin as the Roman stroked him to full hardness, working a mark into his collarbone where it would be hidden by his tunic. Gavin sucked and bit at it, not bothering to synchronise with his rhythmic tugs, until he pressed a final kiss to the blemish on the king’s pale skin and pulled back to survey his handiwork.

“Lovely Ryan, you look so good wearing my bites.” Gavin flicked a thumb over the head of the king’s cock with his praise, drawing out another low noise. “A work of art, and just for me to see. Oh, but you’ve been so perfect and quiet for me, haven’t you? You deserve something special. How does coming in my mouth sound?”

“Gav– Gavin, you have the most ridiculous gag reflex I’ve ever known,” the king argued weakly, but Gavin was already sliding to his knees and pushing back the king’s kilt with a sultry grin.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you felt inside me,” Gavin mused, and took the head carefully in his mouth.

“Fucking hell, Gavin,” the king said, awe-struck, as Gavin kept eye contact and sank lower down, using his hand on what he couldn’t take. While he didn’t have Mogar’s seemingly nonexistent gag reflex, Gavin certainly made up for it with the movements of his tongue and the soft touch of his hand dancing between gently squeezing the base of the king’s cock and cupping his balls with smooth long fingers. His ministrations were teasing and almost feather-light, and it took all of the king’s self restraint to not tangle his fingers in the soft hair in front of him and fuck into the wet heat of Gavin’s mouth.

He was barely able to choke out a warning before he came, spilling down Gavin’s throat with a stifled noise. Gavin obediently took all of it, a little escaping from between his lips and running down his chin in pearly droplets, and swallowed what he could. His tongue darted out to lick up what he could, wiping the rest away with his hand.

“God, where did that attitude come from, Gavin?” the king sighed as Gavin pulled himself back up onto the chaise. “Not that I’m complaining, because that’s something I’d like to see a lot more of.”

Gavin shrugged. “It happens every now and again. Now, uh, if you’d let me take care of this before we move onto boring politics, that’d be top–”

“No, Gavin, by all means, let me help you out. Return the favour,” the king said nonchalantly.

“Ryan, really, we’ve wasted enough time as it is. I’ll be fine.” Gavin shifted in his seat. “‘Sides, Mogar sounds like he wants to wear me out. Better if I don’t,” he said, laughing awkwardly.

“Alright,” the king replied dubiously, and tried very hard to ignore the dull ache in his neck where Gavin had sunk his teeth in.


	13. dies irae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin needs to run for cover.
> 
> _dies irae – judgement day_

Gavin could barely take in anything the king said to him after his brief display of exhibitionism, trying to calm his breathing and slow down his pounding heartbeat, somehow managing to form coherent answers as the hours dragged past.

He almost breathed a huge sigh of relief as their polite political conversation was cut off abruptly when Trevor knocked lightly on the door and let himself in with a good-natured grimace.

“You should probably go attend to Mogar, Gavin. He’s this close to stealing you out the window,” Trevor said, gesturing with a slight shudder.

Scrambling to his feet, Gavin excused himself more briskly than normal and nearly tripped trying to leave.

He didn’t even bother to knock on the door of their room, barely managing to close it behind himself when Mogar leapt forwards and pinned him against it in an almost-violent kiss, knocking his head back into the solid wood.

“Needed you so bad, Gav, fuck,” he growled into Gavin’s mouth. “Now you’re here, and you’re all mine.”

“Yours,” Gavin breathed as Mogar nipped his jaw.

Mogar almost ripped at the fabric of his clothes and the brooch on Gavin’s tunic skittered to the ground, his belt snaking off after it.

Gavin barely had a chance to breathe before Mogar scooped him up and crashed their mouths together again, whirling around and splaying Gavin out underneath him on the bed with a nearly predatory grin.

Strong hands slid along Gavin’s sides. One hand rucked his tunic up, the other began working at his breeches. As Gavin half-sat up and pulled his tunic off, exposing the long line of his neck, Mogar snarled and Gavin froze.

“Gavin, what are those?” The marks were fading, but recognisable as bites. Mogar pressed his fingers against them, blood thumping under his touch, and Gavin whined.

“Those aren’t mine, I know they aren’t. Who the fuck gave them to you? Some bastard from the town? Is that where you’ve been going at night?”

“Wh– I–” Gavin spluttered.

“What? You thought I didn’t know that you’ve been sneaking out? Cut me the bullshit, Gavin. I’m not dumb.” Mogar dug his fingers in harder, making Gavin wince audibly.

“Michael, just–”

“Don’t call me that name,” Mogar hissed, letting Gavin go like he’d been burned. “Go on, then, run off to whoever’s been keeping your dick warm. I’ll find him in the morning and kill him!” Mogar’s voice raised to a shout, and Gavin flinched.

“Mi– Mogar, don’t say that, stop, you’re not thinking straight! Just–”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get out, you son of a bitch, or I’ll get you along with him!” Mogar bared his teeth again.

Gavin cowered away from Mogar defensively and tugged his tunic back down quickly, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him. Taking a few deep breaths, he took a torch off the wall and padded down the hall to the king’s room, hoping for a bit of solace – or at least a place to sleep for the night.

* * *

The king half-woke up at the sound of his door opening, and jerked properly awake at the small voice that floated in.

“Ryan?”

“Gavin? What happened? Did Michael hurt you? Come here.” He was almost in a panic at the sound of Gavin’s doleful voice, holding his arms out towards the door.

The torch slotted into its bracket, and Gavin crawled onto the bed beside him, curling into his side miserably and fitting almost perfectly.

The king rubbed his waist comfortingly. “You can tell me what happened, Gav. From the looks of it, Mogar’s angry.”

“Not the bloody half of it,” Gavin mumbled into the blankets. “Saw the bite marks you gave me, thought I was fucking someone from the town, threatened to kill him and me, and, well, here I am.”

The king moved his hand up to Gavin’s shoulder and slid the other one into his hair, rubbing soothing circles against him. “I’ll keep you safe, promise.”

Gavin made a soft noise as the king pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and turned his head to connect their lips. It was languid and slow, and Gavin tried grinding his hips back against the king, but firm hands stilled him.

“Gavin, no. You know that’s what got us into this mess. Now’s really not the time.”

Gavin sighed mournfully, resting his forehead on the king’s shoulder and sitting in a sad silence as the king rubbed deep, slow arcs into his shoulder blades.

Sitting with his back against the headboard, the king gently moved Gavin around until he could rest his head on the pillows and wrapped a blanket and reassuring arm around him. The warmth of Gavin’s still-clothed body against his side made something ache dully, like the sensation was something he’d needed for a very long time that he’d have to let go of very soon. He held Gavin closer as he lay down and tried for an anxious night’s sleep.

And then another knock came on the door. “Hey, Rye, you awake?”

Gavin stirred next to him as he sat up.

“I almost wasn’t before you came in. What is it?” the king asked quietly. Mogar’s voice sounded light and pleasant, but the king wasn’t going to be deceived. He waited carefully to see how Mogar would react – whether he’d continue on or let his rage bubble over and flood the room.

Making a sleepy noise, Gavin tried to sit up, but the king shushed him back down and hugged him into his side protectively.

“He’s in here with you?” Mogar said in disbelieving anger. “Ryan, let me at him, you can’t’ve missed the hickeys all down his neck! They aren’t from me, and if they’re from anyone else in this place I’ll eat my boots!” Mogar, half-naked and enraged, stood in place and bouncing from foot to foot as if itching to move, to leap towards them and let out his anger with his bare fists.

“Hope your boots taste good, then. Now do stop yelling, please, you’ll wake him up. I’m sure you know he hasn’t had the best of nights,” the king said mildly.

Mogar instinctively reached behind himself for his sword, but grasped nothing, and fumed in place. “You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me? Ryan, I really don’t want to have to kill anyone else on our staff. I’m sure you don’t want me to have to do that either.”

“I don’t. But what I do want at this exact moment is for you to go back to your room, take a breath and sleep on this. We’ll discuss this in a civilised–”

“Oh, civilised, civilised’s what got us into this mess! Fuck your damn civilised!” He paused, and begrudgingly continued. “But I will take some of your advice. I’ll go back to my room, take a breath and sleep on this. But in the morning, I’ll deal with it my way.” A glint of teeth bared in a snarl, and Mogar stalked out.

Gavin pressed in closer, and the king held him uneasily, listening to him breathe quietly until the soft sounds lulled him to sleep.


	14. nemo nisi mors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _nemo nisi mors – no one but death shall part us_

The king left Gavin asleep – small and vulnerable and alone, buried in furs and a pang of guilt – and strode into the dining hall alone to find Mogar prowling along a line of the staff.

“End of the line, my liege,” Mogar ordered without facing him.

The king took his place in the line and cleared his throat. “Don’t let me stop you from your methods, but I don’t think you’re thinking this through properly, Michael. For starters, I believe you can safely rule out Ramsey and Pattillo. They’re fairly committed.”

_And so was I._

“Geoff, Jack, you are free to go,” he murmured, and they stepped out of line gratefully.

Mogar looked annoyed, but didn’t try to stop them.

The king continued in the same quiet tone, “If Trevor or Matt wanted to take advantage of Gavin, they would have done so in his training, I believe. Neither of them would stoop so low.”

_But I would._

Trevor and Matt hastened out of the line and watched with fearful intrigue.

“Anyone else you’d like to save?”

“All the female staff are out of the question, for very obvious reasons.”

The line slowly dwindled, each quietly accounted for by the king and let go begrudgingly by Mogar until the king was left to face Mogar, alone with his back to the wall and an almost-guilty half-smirk.

“And I’m assuming you’ll save yourself too?” Mogar sneered, raising his claymore under the king’s jawbone.

“Who’s saving themselves?” a voice came from the door.

Gavin stood in the entrance, hair messy, gaze flicking between the crowd standing around the couches.

“Your defender, that’s who.”

“Mi– Mogar, what are you doing?”

“You’re a Roman, you wouldn’t understand. I’m dealing with this problem the way he taught me how,” Mogar snarled.

“And what way’s that, hmm? Regicide? I thought you knew better than that,” Gavin chastised, and Mogar’s sword wavered.

Gavin went on. “I guess I really was wrong about you, then. I thought we’d learned from each other. I thought you’d changed a bit, and I thought you loved me. Was I just an itch to scratch, then? Ryan not doing it for you, so you lead the prisoner along and get mad when he finally decides that he needs something more than someone who’s not even always there for him?”

“Gavin–” Mogar began warningly.

“Don’t you ‘Gavin’ me, you prick. You did this, you took me away from everything I’d ever known and threw me into whatever world you live in and expected me to cope? To not need something constant in my damn life? Please, I’m sure you could tell you weren’t cutting it.”

Ryan waited, tense against the wall, Mogar’s sword dropping down to rest on his shoulder.

“Then what did you need?” Mogar said quietly.

“What did I need?” Gavin spluttered. “I needed someone who’d let me in and just– just let me be rather than trying to strip me off at any given opportunity! Someone who was there for me, someone who’d stand up for me, who’d give me space, who’d listen to me, someone–”

“Like me,” the king finished quietly, awestruck at the sheer emotion.

“Oh,” Mogar whispered defeatedly, but the broadsword remained unfaltering in his grip.

The court waited quietly, with bated breath.

“Put your sword down, Michael,” Gavin lilted. “You’ve got nothing to gain from this. I mean, you can see he’s made me happy, and I know he’s given you so much, so what good’s killing him going to do? Besides, I’m fairly sure you promised me that you wouldn’t do anything else stupid.” He raised an eyebrow and Mogar seemed to shrink.

“The court is dismissed,” he muttered. “We don’t need an audience.”

“Ramsey, stay at the door, and take Gavin with you,” the king amended, and flinched when the blade pressed back up against his neck. “He’s done no wrong.”

The door shut as Gavin struggled against Geoff, trying to get a last glimpse over his shoulder.

Mogar gazed evenly at the king along the long thin line of his sword, like a hunter looking his prey in the eyes. The silence was growing heavy between them as each waited for the other to break it.

“I could kill you so, so easily,” Mogar murmured after a while. “Right now, and no one would know.”

“You wouldn’t, though,” the king replied, just as quietly, and winced at the dig of the sword into his neck, pressing but not enough to draw blood.

“But you know I could. What’s to say I wouldn’t?”

“Well, for one, Gavin would be in a state. You did promise him you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Ryan. I’ve got a sword.”

The king huffed out a laugh, and felt his Adam’s apple shift under the blade. “I’m well aware of the fact. I’m just saying, think this through a little. What do you want, a full apology?”

“No. This isn’t just something you can apologise for. I want an explanation.”

The king sighed. “Alright. From…what I can assume, Gavin was. Well, Gavin was scared you were abandoning him. That he wasn’t good enough for you anymore. And I didn’t want him to feel out of place here, and I definitely didn’t want to do anything that’d make him uncomfortable, you know that I wouldn’t do that to him, not anymore. So when you pretty much just cut him off, I guess he figured he could talk to me, and then, well, here we are.” The king’s voice had lost its cool, collected tone and he smiled weakly. “Out of curiosity, why'd you distance yourself?”

Mogar looked guilty, and the king raised an eyebrow.

“Ah,” Mogar mumbled.

“Just guessing here, Michael, but did things go the way you wanted them to only for you to forget that that’s what you wanted?”

“Maybe,” he replied quietly, avoiding the king’s eyes.

The king started to laugh, and Mogar let his sword drop with an air of finality, tackling the king down the wall and burying his face in the shoulder of the king’s soft tunic. Warm tears slid down his cheeks to pool in the dip at the king’s collarbone and soak into his tunic, and the king held him gently and let him cry. Whether it was from happiness, sadness, remorse – the king wasn’t even going to try and guess – crying was evidently something that’d make him feel better, so the king only rubbed a soothing hand along Mogar’s side and said nothing.

A muffled shout came from outside the door. “No, you’ve got to– Geoff, you bastard, let me _in_!”

The doors were flung open and Gavin barrelled in, staggering from his impact. His wide, worried eyes met the king’s over Mogar’s shoulder, searching for some kind of answer. The king must’ve given away more than he thought he could, because Gavin let out a half-sob, half-laugh, and rushed across the room to fall easily into the tangle of limbs.

The king let Gavin half-cover him and Mogar and half-drape over the floor, and breathed a sigh of contentment. It looked awkward, was awkward, would probably need a bit of work, but for now, he was a perfect fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only the epilogue left after this now!  
> (more after that)


	15. amor vincit omnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to see where the road takes them.
> 
> _amor vincit omnia – love conquers all_

Gavin woke up with his face pressed into Mogar’s neck and the king’s arm draped loosely over his side. Mogar smelled like sweat and sex and the three of them, and Gavin could still feel the stickiness between his own thighs from both the king and Mogar. It was a filthy yet satisfying feeling, and he reckoned he could go again just from the sensation alone.

He wasn’t alone in the sentiment. An arm tightened from behind him and pulled him closer to a warm chest and the press of a mostly-hard cock into his lower back.

“You’re very awake,” he murmured back to the king, who chuckled quietly.

“Hard not to be with this gorgeous sight in bed with me.”

Gavin rolled over to press his lips to the king’s, and let out a soft noise into his mouth when the king reached a warm hand down to wrap around both of them and begin a lazy rhythm.

“You two have all the fun without me,” came a sleepy voice from behind Gavin, and Mogar hooked his chin over Gavin’s shoulder while he rested one hand on the thin, tanned hips in front of him.

Gavin didn’t notice the other hand was missing until a slick finger circled around his entrance and pressed in gently. He was torn between thrusting into the king’s hand and pushing back onto Mogar’s hand, and eventually settled at a fairly slow pace.

One finger became two, and two became three, and Gavin was spread-legged and whimpering into Ryan’s mouth and neck as Mogar slicked up his cock and slowly slid in.

Mogar fitted inside with the same pleasurable burn that he had the last time, and the time before, head brushing Gavin’s sweet spot with every shift of his hips. He started slow, and worked his way up to a pace that had Gavin crying out louder and bucking frantically into the king’s hand.

To all of their surprise, Mogar was the first to come, spilling hot into Gavin with a grunt.

“Knees and elbows for me, Gav?” the king asked quietly, and Gavin obliged, limbs shaking as he exposed his now-wet hole.

Slicking himself up, the king slid in with almost no resistance, but Gavin was still tight enough and clung to him like a glove. It didn’t take much for the king to come, either, knocking Gavin from his elbows to chest flat against the bed. The two loads inside him were starting to drip down Gavin’s thighs and join the dried come that formed similar patterns on his legs.

The king moved a hand to softly cup Gavin’s balls and run his fingers up the warm shaft. “Mind if I clean you up a bit, Gav? Until you come?” Mogar asked gently, and pressed a kiss to Gavin’s inner thigh once he heard the low groan and saw the feverish nods.

Mogar trailed his tongue up and collected the pearly liquid from Gavin’s left thigh, pressing it carefully back into his hole before repeating the action along his right. Hands kneading the soft flesh of Gavin’s ass, Mogar licked carefully along his perineum and pressed his tongue past the loosened ring of muscle, swirling it through the salty come until Gavin made a quiet noise and came with barely any movement into the king’s hand.

The king made a face as Gavin slumped properly into the bed.

“I don’t think I can leave here for, like, months. Can’t move. You two have fucked five years’ worth of life out of me.” Gavin pressed his face into the pillow and shifted his hips around until he was comfortable.

“Gotta get you out of here to clean you up, though. You’re a mess,” the king pointed out, wiping his hand on the blanket.

“Your fault,” Gavin mumbled into the pillow. “Both of your faults. Sex has never been better, though,” he added with a grin.

“Worth the wait?” Mogar asked with a tinge of guilt.

“Oh, definitely.”

Mogar draped himself over Gavin like a blanket, and laughed at the squashed sound he made.

“Oh, Michael, really? Are you a child?” the king berated gently. “He’s had you on top of him all night, I’m sure the feeling must get old after a while!”

Gavin groaned at the innuendo, and Mogar rolled off to lie beside him, leaning in to press a small kiss to his nose.

“So I take it we’re not getting out of bed just yet then?”

The king pulled the blankets back up to cover all of them and settled down on Gavin’s other side. “Not like we have anything important to do today.”

* * *

“Good citizens of the Roman Empire!” Gavin began from the high box in the coliseum to a mostly-silent audience. “It is with the deepest sorrow that I must break this news to you. The Emperor is dead, the Empire is fallen, and we who have ruled you for so long must take our leave of you.”

The soft sound of dissent rose from the crowd, and Gavin raised his hands for quiet.

“You are, of course, more than welcome to come with us.” He grinned, inviting but almost sharklike. “And we understand that most of you have your livelihoods here, and Empire or no Empire, you will still want to continue your lives. We won’t leave you in destitution – you have nothing to worry about. But for those of you who are…displaced, who leave nothing behind, you are more than welcome to join us as we travel. And if you happen to find a place that calls to your heart on our journeys, then by all means call it home. We shall leave in a week’s time.”

The people shuffled in the coliseum as Gavin, flanked by the king and Mogar, exited the box.

“Reckon anyone’ll come with us?” Gavin asked, grin softened.

The king nodded. “You did,” he replied, and pressed a soft kiss into Gavin’s hair.

A shout from behind them snapped the guards to attention. Gavin turned to see a familiar Roman man rushing towards them, waving.

Geoff tensed towards him, but Gavin placed a hand gently on his forearm. “Leave him. I know him.”

The man stopped short of them, panting. “Free…sorry, _Consul_ Free–”

“No need for that, B,” Gavin chided. “I’m still Gav.”

The man had caught his breath, and straightened up. “Alright, then, Gav– I’m assuming I’m not on informal basis with this lot yet?”

Mogar growled, and Gavin laughed with the stranger.

“Tell me, has the Empire really fallen? Or has it…” The man trailed off, and the king shook his head as Gavin laughed.

“The Roman Empire’ll only fall if it starts falling from the outside in, B.”

“Oh, right, so like what’s happening here, got it.” The man was grinning, though, and Gavin laughed with him until he suddenly sobered.

“So, you’re leaving in a week, then, B? Where you going?”

Gavin looked to the king for an answer.

“We’ll try going north a bit, I think. Build a boat if we need to, there’s a channel we could cross.”

The Roman looked slightly crestfallen. “I didn’t expect you to be going that far.”

“You could come with us, Dan,” Gavin began excitedly. “I’m sure we could use another fighter, or a navigator, or–”

“I can’t, Gav. Someone…” He hesitated. “Someone’s got to make sure everyone here is okay.”

The king nodded, and drew his sword. “Ah…I’m sorry, you are…?”

“Daniel Gruchy. Dan.”

“Then, Daniel, if you would kneel?”

“You aren’t beheading me that easily, if that’s what you’re playing at!”

The king hastily backtracked. “No, no, no. No beheading. Look, I’ll use my scabbard for this if it’d make you more comfortable.”

“It most certainly would!”

Sheathing his sword, the king undid the sword and scabbard from his belt and tapped Dan on each shoulder. “Daniel Gruchy, by the power vested in me, I hereby place you in charge of civilian aid to the settled people of the dissolved Roman Empire. I trust that you will ensure their wellbeing and safety, and give you the power to lead a party of individuals to aid you in this charge. You may rise.”

Dan stood and gave the king a small salute. “Thank you, sire.” He turned to Gavin. “It’s going to be a bit weird without you around, isn’t it? You take care of yourself, now.” He seemed to pause for thought before leaning in and hugging Gavin tightly.

“Will do, B. And if I can’t, this lot will.”

“And maybe one day they’ll bring you back home?”

Gavin shrugged, and smiled back at Mogar and the king. “If I find a road, I guess I’ll follow it back to Rome. But I wouldn’t say that’s home, would you, Rye?”

The king returned the smile. “We’ll know home when we find it. I’m sure of it.”


	16. an afterthought

this is my longest work to date, by far. what started as a little drabble in a sticky note has now, almost a year and around twenty-eight thousand words later, become a finished product. i like to think i did this idea justice, and despite the burning hatred i now have for latin, i have to say it was worth it.

but obviously this wasn’t just a hundred-percent-me effort – there’s some people who deserve thanks for helping me make this happen.

first of all, to my lovely buddy corona. corona has sat through countless hours of me sending them snippets, brainstorming, asking if words do the thing right, screaming because a plot point isn’t going anywhere. you name it, corona’s probably seen it from me (including the dark and edgy reboot that started before the main fic was even finished). they deserve all the thanks in the world for making sure i don’t go insane with this, sending me an absolute banger of a song that’s going to be the header of the playlist i eventually make, and, on a few occasions, bribing me to finish parts with the promise of their fantastic art. thanks so much, boi.

secondly, to the rooster teeth community writer’s discord server. i would thank specific people, but i don’t have specific people to thank – everyone there has been so supportive of everything i’ve written since i joined back in december. although the gang there hasn’t been on the receiving end of much of this fic, they’ve been super cool with giving me advice on how to put this together – chaptering, updating schedules, not being a dick, etc. cheers, lads.

finally, i’d like to thank you. i know that sounds cliche as hell, but it’s true. whether this is the first thing of mine you’ve read, or you’ve read a lot over time, or you’ve been binge-reading and found this, thank you. (if it’s the last one – i feel you, man. i feel you.) and if you’ve stuck with it while it’s been updating, i’m this close to sending you a love letter. no, really. i adore you.

(oh, and thanks also goes indirectly to panic! at the disco, whose live cover of movin’ out fuelled a particularly long editing session at two in the morning. it bangs, just so you know.)

a little part of me is going to miss writing this, but to be honest? i’m glad to finally get it out. there probably isn’t going to be a sequel to this – i like where it ends. it’s as good as riding off into the sunset can get without the actual riding off into the sunset. their journey is only just beginning, but my journey with this fic is ending.

(though if you want to do anything with this, art or fic or whatever, hmu *wink wink*)

it’s been fun, guys. thanks a mill.

 

<3 - nikolai


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